


...And An Angel Shall Lead Them

by Duckyboos



Series: Chronicles Of A Serial Killer [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dexter, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Bottom Castiel, Detective Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean, Top Dean, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Murdering people in the mountains above L.A?”<br/>“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”<br/>“Well it’s all a bit 'Hillside Strangler' isn’t it?”<br/>“Oh yeah, ‘cause dumping bodies at the Basin has worked out so well for <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>Finding out your sweet, kind boyfriend has a kill-count to rival The Green River Killer is probably on high on most people’s worst nightmares. Not Dean, though.</p>
<p>His worst nightmare is having the same damned conversation about the best place to hide the bodies, even though he’s obviously <i>right</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s beginning to get why most serial killers work alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>As Cas and Dean come to terms with how their relationship has changed and now requires more compromise than either of them imagined, they find themselves deep in a project that Cas has been working on for a while which threatens more than just their secret identities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue -Forever is a long way down.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'll try to be better with the updates on this one!

Dean’s dick twitches in his black tactical pants as he watches Cas on the CCTV. _Fuck_ , his boyfriend is sexy like this; meticulous grace and murderous intent combined in a hot-as-hell package of blue eyes and lithe body that is as deadly as it is jaw-droppingly beautiful.

He’s perfectly willing to concede that he may have been wrong about the whole hybristophilia thing being creepy, because he defies anybody with a pulse to find Cas anything other than fuckable.

He’s so goddamn _dangerous_ and it turns his blood molten within seconds.

The walkie-talkie on the desk crackles into life. “Dean, you’d better not be staring at my ass. You’re supposed to be paying attention.”

He licks his lips, raises the radio to his mouth and presses the button to speak, not taking his eyes off the screens. “I am paying attention. _Very close_ attention. Apropos of absolutely nothing, why don’t these cameras have a zoom function?”

The grainy black and white on-screen version of Cas flips him off. Dean chuckles. “You know, I think I preferred you when you were all quiet and innocent.”

A pause, static and then, “I’ve never been innocent.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to get that.”

Dean has finally given up on berating himself for not realizing sooner that his boyfriend is a serial killer. Cas is so organized, has things so well hidden and kept secret that he’s pretty sure he would have never found out if Cas hadn’t actually told him.

Not quite the sloppy, inexperienced Vigilante he’d been expecting. Which is both frightening and hot, but mostly impressive.

Really, Cas is everything he ever wanted, and his only sticking point now is believing that he’s actually been this lucky, ‘cause fuck knows he doesn’t deserve it.

“Are we clear?”

His eyes scan the screen above the one Cas is on, searching for any signs of life, “Yeah, you’re clear for the next room.”

Breaking in was every inch as difficult and risky as he’d thought it would be, but Cas was insistent about this kill, and Cas generally gets what he wants these days. Although, Dean would be lying if he said that he didn’t agree that this asshole needs to die. Preferably slowly and painfully. Three months – closer to a year for Cas – of research culminating in this. It’s like nothing Dean’s ever done before; his kills are straightforward by comparison, but once again; Cas.

So maybe Dean is a little whipped. He’s made his peace with it.

“If it’s any consolation, I think I preferred _you_ when you were a boring, oblivious pretender.”

Dean sucks in a breath, grinning. One of the best side-effects of the whole I’m-a-serial-killer revelation is getting to be themselves around one another; Cas is sarcastic as fuck, with a dry wit and he makes bickering just _so_ much fun.  “Harsh. Don’t be complaining that romance is dead when you’re the one who bludgeoned it to death, Cas.”

“Shh.” On the camera, Cas raises a finger to his lips and draws his gun, slowly, inching it out of the holster that Dean bought for his birthday a couple of weeks ago.

Dean’s heart seizes in his chest as he sees a door behind and to the left of Cas open, and that’s all she wrote, because he’s out of his chair and out of the door in seconds, bringing his illegal firearm (can’t be bringing his traceable police issue one to a kidnapping attempt) up to chest height as he edges along the wall, ears and eyes trained to catch any sign of movement, but there’s nothing.

Until there is.

It’s the loud crack of a gun being fired, echoing through the corridors.

 _Fuck_.

“Cas?” He calls out, straining to listen, to hear _anything._ At this point, he’d take Cas telling him to fuck off over the eerie silence in the wake of the gunshot.

No reply.

Heart pounding, he rounds the corner, glass from an unseen origin crunching under his boots, complete disregard for all his years of police training in favor of finding Cas.

Turns out – like so many other things about tonight – it’s a mistake.

A smartly-dressed man Dean recognizes from the ridiculous amount of coverage the mayoral elections are getting is standing there calmly, hands in his pants pockets like he’s waiting for a bus, but he’s the last person Dean expected to see in this place. It seems like a recurring theme in his life.

“It’s you?”

“Good job, detective.” He says, oily and slick with a shark-like grin.

Then there’s a heavy thud at the back of his neck, blinding pain and his world goes black.


	2. Chapter One - I love a man from California, he's the prettiest thing, we got the same disorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to use a story from episode 9.15 'cause it just perfectly offsets how this 'verses Dean is now.
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments and stuff off the back of the first chapter!

**Three months earlier.**

 

There are an estimated 35 to 50 serial killers active in the U.S. That’s out of a population of over 319,000,000. There’s a higher chance of getting killed by a falling coconut than two serial killers crossing paths unintentionally.

And yet here they are.

Here in a special Hell reserved exclusively for him, ‘cause there is just no fuckin’ way that this can be anything but a punishment.

“Come on.” Cas is wheedling and usually it’s kind of cute, but Dean isn’t budging. He’s putting his foot down and lots of other clichés that help fortify his determination to not be seen making a fool out of himself. He crosses his arms across his chest firmly; another line of defense against the pouty lips and blue eyes that are used like weapons against him.

“Cas, I’m not suffering the indignity of a _Dirty Dancing_ song.”

Cas points a finger at him, apparently triumphant. “Ha! You know what movie it’s from!”

Dean raises an unimpressed brow, resists the urge to scoff, “Of course I do. I’m a serial killer not a hermit.”

Cas sighs heavily as if Dean is the worst person in the world – which sometimes he thinks he is – and switches tactic, apparently trying to appeal to Dean’s senses, “It’s a wedding, Dean. Everybody is dancing. We’ve gotta keep up appearances.”

“Cas,” Dean is not above pleading with his sadistic boyfriend; desperate times and all that, “you’re killing me with this shit. We just need to keep doing what we’ve been doing separately. Only now we’re doing it together. There’s no need for your pie charts or whatever.”

“They’re flow charts, Dean and we need to be organized about this.”

It’s Dean’s turn to sigh. See, Cas is amazing; he already knew that, but in the last four days since he found out about Cas being the Vigilante, he’s really beginning to understand just _how_ amazing. However, along with that he is a giant pain in the ass who sulks – yes, sulks – if Dean doesn’t immediately bend to his will.

“I am _not_ dancing to _Hungry Eyes_ , Cas. There are some things I will do and others I will not.” It’s his brother’s wedding day and he’s already compromised on several of his hard limits, like talking to distant relatives of cousins twice removed who only come out of the woodwork when there’s free cake and alcohol.

He is ** _not_** dancing and it’s one concession he isn’t willing to make.

So naturally, in an embarrassingly short amount of time, he and Cas end up on the dance floor swaying awkwardly to the fucking Eric Carmen song that is probably the fantasy of virtually every teenager girl ever.

Though, he has to admit that it feels kind of nice having Cas tucked in close to his body like this, arms wrapped around one another; Dean’s low around Cas’s waist, his boyfriend’s around Dean’s neck. Along with the fancy tablecloths, balloons and cheesy music, he kind of imagines that this is what prom would have been like.

“What are you thinking about?” Cas murmurs, voice low, lips brushing over Dean’s ear.

“Prom,” Dean answers honestly, “I didn’t go and I’m thinking that it would have been a bit like this.”

Cas pulls back a little, studying Dean’s face in that scarily precise way he does, like he’s plundering the depths of Dean’s soul. It’s more than a little intimidating now that Dean doesn’t have his disguise to hide behind.

“If you wanted to make out in a dark corner somewhere I’d be totally game for that.”

Dean can’t help his small smirk. “Thanks Cas, but if I wanted to regress back to being a teenager, I’d just buy a skateboard or something.”

Cas’s brow creases. “You had a skateboard when you were a teenager?”

“No, I had a gun and military training seven days a week when I was a teenager, but normal kids had skateboards, right?”

“I think so. My main frame of reference for the 90s is _Clueless_.”

“I would mock you for that, but mine is _Thelma & Louise_.”

Cas tilts his head back and laughs and it’s such a beautiful, unrestrained action that just for a split-second Dean feels like everything in his life has been worth it, all the angst, the second-guessing, the self-loathing, just for this perfect moment where he can honestly say that he’s happy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the bride making her way over, big grin on her face, voice carrying over the music which has now changed into something Dean doesn’t recognize, but nevertheless, hates anyway. “You two are just so handsome together!” Jess gushes, more than half way to being drunk if the red wine stain on the ivory bodice of her wedding dress is any indication. Behind her, Sam appears, looking as long-suffering and hen-pecked as a man who’s been married for fifty years, not fifty minutes.

_Hah Sammy, good luck with that._

“I mean, you always are,” She corrects quickly, “but you look _so_ happy together and you’re actually smiling Dean and those suits are just perfect! I mean, wow!”

They’ve been getting admiring glances all evening and if he looks even half as good as Cas – who is beyond handsome in his all black suit with dark gray tie – then he definitely gets why.

Evidently this new song requires joint participation from everyone on the dance floor, so – with great reluctance – Dean and Cas break apart and all four of them make their way over to the edge of the room, allowing other willing guests to make idiots out of themselves.

Jess is still babbling about how gorgeous they are and as usual, Dean tunes out. He risks a glance at Cas who is smiling and clearly paying attention. One day Dean is going to have to ask Cas how he manages to listen without wanting to shoot himself in the face, but today is not that day.

He’s suffered enough.

Though fate seems to disagree, because apparently it’s Sam’s time to approach the bench. “Your Best Man speech was surprisingly deep for you, Dean.”

And if that doesn’t make him feel like a heartless bastard.

“Yeah,” Dean forces a smile. “Cas helped me with it.” Like Cas is helping Dean to appear more human in all aspects of his life.

“Well, I appreciate it man. I know we’re not close like we used to be when we were kids, but you’re still my brother and I love you.”

Emotions aren’t really Dean’s forte; obviously can’t afford for them to be, but it still stings to hear the resignation is Sammy’s voice like he’s come to terms with Dean’s distance and apparent lack of feelings.

It wasn’t always like this; one of Dean’s favorite memories is from when he was nine and Sam was five. They dressed up as superheroes; Dean as Superman and Sam as Batman and they jumped off the shed roof. Dean went first and managed to land well enough to not break anything. Sammy wasn’t so lucky though; he broke his arm and Dean bundled him onto the handlebars of his bike, ready to peddle the two miles to the ER, practically the whole way telling his little brother over and over, ‘Sammy, you know Batman can’t fly!’

Sam always said that he was just following his big brother.

And that is the worst thing about the whole situation; the fact that it didn’t have to be like this, that their dad did this to them, knowing full well what would happen and then left them alone to deal with it because he was a coward.

 “Yeah, I love you too Sammy.” And he’s proud of him too, but he’s had enough ‘moments’ for one day, so it’s time to change the subject to something safer, something he knows and is more comfortable with, “Have you heard about your results yet? Are you gonna be joining homicide?”

Sam shakes his head, shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “Nah, I won’t hear until we’re back from our honeymoon.”

“Ah, when are you leaving?”

Sam opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by his wife who holds her hand up to silence him and flicks her gaze between Dean and Cas, with something akin to suspicion gracing her pretty features and for an instant Dean panics, thinking that somehow, in a fit of madness, Cas has told her everything.

“Hey, why aren’t you two married yet, it’s legal in this state?”

Oh Christ. It’s so much _worse_.

“Yes Dean,” Cas turns to him, wine glass newly appeared in hand, mischievous glint in his eye that Dean is just learning seems to be a precursor for trouble. “Why _aren’t_ we married?”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping against all hope that this isn’t actually happening.

He opens his eyes again to the sight of his brother, sister-in-law and boyfriend staring at him expectantly, waiting for his answer, so it looks like this _is_ happening and he’s stuck with it. He is so going to make Cas pay for this later. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it.”

Jess tuts, links her arm through Cas’s, inclines her head and says in an almost comical stage whisper, “he is _such_ a typical male isn’t he.” She tosses Sam a look that says everything without actually talking. It’s a little impressive how she manages to convey so much annoyance in a split-second glance. “These cop-types always are.”

Cas nods in agreement, eyes still on Dean, gaze heavy. “Yeah, but he’s so pretty.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Cas who just grins back as he’s swept away by the bride no doubt to shake the present boxes or something.

Thank fuck.

He turns on his brother, who looks how Dean feels; murderous and confused. “Okay, what did you do?”

Sam’s expression shifts into one of affront. “What? Me?”

“How have you upset her already? You’ve been married an hour.”

Sam sighs. “I told her that we’d better be leaving if she wants to be on the plane for our honeymoon, but she waved me off and told me that it’s her wedding day, she can do whatever she wants and if this is how it’s gonna be for the rest of our lives then maybe we made a mistake.”

Ouch.

“She’s just drunk.” Dean offers, realizing the hornet’s nest he’s potentially just trampled through and inwardly curses.

“Yeah, but still.” Sam checks his watch. “We really are gonna miss the plane though and then that will be my fault too.”

“I wish I could say something witty along the lines of ‘welcome to married life’ but I’m sure it’d be clichéd and boring, so I’ll just take a picture of your face right now and frame it for you to look at whenever you feel disenfranchised with the whole thing.”

Sam quirks a smile. “You’re an asshole.”

“So I’m told.”

They stand in a comfortable silence for a few moments, giving them both time to contemplate on how neither of their lives are going to be the same again – for completely different reasons.

One of the guests that Dean was introduced to at the reception as Jess’s sister’s friend or some shit falls over in her stupidly high heels near the buffet table and a thousand people descend on her to help.

“So what’s the deal with you and Cas? You seem different somehow.”

Fuck. Cas will not be happy if Dean doesn't remember to react in accordance with his highlighted pie chart – flow chart, whatever.

“Yeah, we sat down and had a long chat about stuff, and I’ve just been working too hard and I’m gonna try hard to balance my home and work life better.” It all comes out in a garbled rush despite Cas making him practice for ages. “We’re both feeling good about the future.”

 

***

 

Dean watches from his horizontal position on the couch as Cas pulls his tie through his shirt’s starched collar and drops it on the coffee table before starting on the buttons. He knows that he should have taken his suit off before just flopping down onto the nearest soft thing, but the wedding was tough going and for now he’s content to watch his boyfriend.

Cas is working on his cufflinks when he says, “Seriously though Dean, we could get married.”

“We could,” he agrees slowly, pushing himself into a sitting position, stalling for time to find the right words, more than aware of the precarious situation he’s in. “But why do we need to? It’s not like we really fall into line with social norms anyway.”

Cas makes a thoughtful noise and bends down to put the cufflinks next to the tie. “Okay.”

A pit of guilt opens up in Dean’s gut, but he’s not quite sure why, “Cas–“

Castiel smiles warmly as he cuts him off, “Honestly, it’s okay Dean. You should probably get out of that suit before it creases.”

And that’s the end of the discussion as far as Dean is concerned.

 

Which of course means that it’s only just beginning.


	3. Chapter Two - I wanna do bad things with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, though it is a pretty vital one in terms of their relationship, so that excuses it, right? Right?! 
> 
> Either way, thank you once again guys for your awesome comments; they really do mean a lot :).

“Mmm, what about this guy?”

Dean finishes his mouthful of pepperoni pizza, wipes his fingers on a napkin and picks up the folder that Cas points at from the jumble of seven spread across the coffee table, “Kip Benson. Three time murdering scumbag. Paroled last summer after serving twenty years.”

Cas swallows and nods. “That’s what, six and a half years for each life? Doesn’t seem fair to me.” He takes a sip of soda. “How’d he kill them?”

Dean flips to the next page, eyes scanning the information. “Err, two with a claw hammer, third one got shot in the stomach and bled out.”

“Okay,” Cas sucks the tip of his thumb into his mouth, pulling away with a loud pop, “shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Dean looks up from the folder in his hands, eyebrows raised in a question, “We’re still doing the whole Basin Vigilante thing?”

Indignant, Cas replies, “Well yeah, why not?”

“Because my way was working pretty well.”

“Murdering people in the mountains above L.A?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

Cas wrinkles his nose, looking just this side of too cute to be having a conversation about where to bury bodies, “Well it’s all a bit _Hillside Strangler_ isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause dumping bodies at the Basin has worked out so well for _you_.”

Cas stands up, collecting the plates and empty pizza box, before he looks down at Dean, all stern librarian and impatient mother rolled into one.

“Dean, I have been doing this for a long time. Maybe longer than you. I know what I’m doing.” He goes off towards the kitchen and Dean raises his voice a little so that he can be heard in the next room. He’s too full of pizza to get off his lazy ass, and if they keep eating awesome food like this, he really _is_ going to have to go to the gym.

“Yeah, well so do I! The cops are still crawling allover your last crime scene and the Vigilante in general; you need to keep it down, we can’t have more victims with the same M.O showing up. How am I supposed to work the scene properly knowing that it’s us? Not to mention that it’s a waste of police resources when we could be tracking down the cop-killing asshole.”

“Firstly,” apparently Cas is back in the room because his voice sounds close and then his arms are linking around Dean’s shoulders from behind and his breath is hot against Dean’s ear. “where is your sense of adventure or romanticism? We could be like Bonnie and Clyde of the serial killer world. Completely unstoppable –“

“Yeah, until we die in a hail of cop bullets. _So_ romantic.”

Cas slaps him lightly on the chest. “Secondly, I already have an idea on who killed your fellow officer.”

Dean twists around in his seat to look at Cas, watching him closely from the corner of his eye, curiosity piqued. “You do?”

“Yeah, it’s something I’ve been working on for ages now.”

“Are you going to tell me or are you gonna leave it in a series of cryptic notes at crime scenes?”

Cas grins and plants a kiss on Dean’s nose before releasing Dean from his hold and rising to his feet. “Still sore about that aren’t you?”

“No.”

No, Dean totally isn’t.

Except he is.

Cas’s smug expression suggests that he probably sees Dean’s lame attempt at subterfuge for exactly what it is. There’s just nowhere to hide anymore and it’s as frightening as it is liberating. Having lived almost the entirety of his life out in sort-of-self-imposed isolation, somebody suddenly being able to read him as easily as Cas can is somewhat intimidating.

He decides that the best course of action is to change the subject; not that it’ll fool Cas, of course not, but it may stop Dean from feeling like such a fucking amateur. “So what’s the plan with Benson, now that you’re the boss and I’m just the Pinky-type character in this scenario?”

The smugness is replaced by a look of confusion. “Pinky?”

“You know, from Pinky and the Brain?” At the continued blank expression from Cas, he tries again, “One is a genius the other one is insane? I vote to be the genius by the way, ‘cause if you’re wanting to dump the body at the basin amidst the heat from the cops then you’re definitely crazy.”

“I have a plan.” Cas says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll work.”

“Yeah, we gonna take over the world, Brain?”

“I’m still not getting the reference, Dean.”

 

***

 

‘Compromise’ is a great word when used in its correct form. However, Cas’s definition varies greatly from Dean’s – incidentally, it’s the one that he and the Oxford dictionary agree on – which is why they’re in a warehouse in the heart  of L.A with an unconscious murderer instead of in the goddamn mountains, safe and far away from everybody including his friends down at the LAPD.

“Did you know,” Cas says casually, claw hammer in hand. “that apparently marriage helps build a new sense of family? Like psychologically, and the brain craves commitment?”

Dean grunts, finishing off a knot on the rope around Benson’s ankles. “Where’d you read that shit, Cas?”

“The internet. Some guy’s blog.”

Dean struggles not to roll his eyes, as he gives the ropes tied around the man’s upper body, wrists and ankles a quick yank each, one after another, testing the strength of his knots. They hold easily. “Ah yes, the internet; the most reliable source in the world.”

Cas scowls at him, “I’ve learned many a thing from Wikipedia.”

“You and the rest of the world’s college students.” He straightens up, brushing dirt off his jeans, satisfied with his work.

“Like Nietzsche’s Apollonian and Dionysian dichotomy.”

“Cas, do we have to do this now?” He nods towards their still unconscious victim now expertly - if he does say so himself - tied up on the floor, sense of urgency apparent. Benson is bound to wake up any time now and whilst in the mountains, he’d be okay with a fucking meet and greet, down in the middle of LA isn’t the best place to be having a chat with someone you aim to kill.

But Cas isn’t listening, he’s staring off into the distance, unseeing, “Do you know what existentialism is? It’s basically the idea that our ideas of rules and morality are self-imposed and that life has no meaning or ultimate purpose. That life is absurd.”

Dean is too tired for the game Cas is trying to goad him into; he’s had a shit day, fraught with unending questions about the Vigilante and what he’s planning next, and knowing that he was going to finish work and go straight into making his own life more difficult was not something he’d spent all day looking forward to, “Okay, Cas, enough. What are you getting at?”

A few seconds tick by in complete silence, then Cas seems to snap out of it and turns to Dean, face half concealed by the shadows twisted into shape by the early evening sun, “does it not bother you?”

“No,” He answers honestly. “Why would you spend all that time thinking about life and what it means rather than just _living_? I don’t get it.”

Cas clicks his fingers “Exactly!” he closes the space between them, eyes extra blue as the fading light catches them just right and it’s suddenly hard to breathe as Cas stares up at him, “So why do we spend so much time trying to hide what we are, rather than just _being_ what we are? If the rules are self-imposed –“

Dean struggles not to face palm, “Are you kidding me? Have you had an aneurism?”

“No –“

“Look,” Dean cuts him off firmly, presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead, “Let’s just deal with this scumbag; get him killed and dumped and then we can focus on your existential crisis.”

Over the past week or so; since the big reveal, they’ve begun to see more and more of each other’s true selves, buried beneath the exterior and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Cas really wasn’t joking about his issues. Dean is almost loathe to even think it, but he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make things work with his boyfriend, so _maybe_ they should sit down and talk about things. Like, actually _talk_ where they share stuff about themselves.

Pretty much nothing else in the world fills him with more dread, though he’s willing to do it. For Cas. For them. 

He catches sight of the small triumphant smile on Cas’s face, but it doesn’t make sense until much, much later, and by then, it’s already too late.


	4. Chapter Three - So if you wanna meet evil, I'm the one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter once again, sorry!  
> I've kinda uploaded this in a rush, so please excuse any spelling mistakes etc. I'll have a quick check and correct via my phone later tonight.

“ _This_ is your plan?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it brilliant?”

Dean makes a face, bites his tongue. To him there are lots of words to explain Cas’s idea, but ‘brilliant’ isn’t one of them. ‘Bat-shit-insane’ is probably the most obvious combination; however there are strong arguments for ‘fucking stupid’, ‘suicidal’ and ‘Cas-are-you-sure-you-haven’t-had-an-anuerism-‘cause-we-really-should-get-you-to-a-hospital’.

Of course, being the supportive boyfriend that he is, he doesn’t mention any of that, instead he makes a non-committal noise and then says, “So… explain this to me once again?” He’s gotta hear the words come out of his boyfriend’s mouth once more, _just in case_ there’s a chance that he’s misunderstanding Cas’s intentions. He’s never been that lucky, but there’s a first time for everything.

Cas sighs heavily and with his whole body, like Dean is being awkward for the sake of it – which may have been true twenty minutes ago – but he definitely isn’t now. Now he's just afraid that he's in cahoots with a lunatic.

“We dump the body in the same warehouse you traced me to last week, then tomorrow you go in to work and bat the theory around about it being a copy-cat. They’ll eat it up, ‘cause you’re you. You’re the best detective they have.”

Ignoring Cas’s attempt at flattery, Dean picks apart his boyfriend’s words slowly and carefully. They make sense individually, but together in that order, they’re just pure nonsense. Nonsense that is gonna get them caught and sentenced to die at the hands of a sadistic prison guard named Mitch, whose sole reason for becoming a lethal injection administrator/executioner is that it’s the only legal way of bloodletting his torturous tendencies.

There’s no way Cas would wish that on him, right?

_Right?!_

The way Cas is grinning at him – only _slightly_ maniacally – suggests that Dean isn’t mistaken and yes, Cas really does wish Mitch and his psychosis on him.

And that’s it. Dean’s patience with Cas’s apparent craziness finally snaps.

“Fuck no.”

Cas’s smile disappears, replaced by a scowl. “What?”

“Cas that is insane. Fuck no. We’re not doing that.”

Silence falls as they stand glowering at each other. Dean is not backing down this time; he’s let Cas walk all over him since he found out about Cas being a serial killer too, but if this is where it leads, then no more.

“Thank fuck.” Cas finally mutters, breaking eye contact, “Thought we were gonna go the whole way there.”

_What?_

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to grow a pair and tell me to fuck off for the last week. But you just wouldn’t, so I had to keep getting more and more extreme until, here we are.” He gestures around them. “This is a fucking stupid idea, right? I know you think so – I’d be seriously concerned if you didn’t – you can say it.”

“This _is_ a fucking stupid idea.” Dean declares, more than slightly stunned at this mercurial shift in his boyfriend, but too happy that he’s not a complete lunatic after all, to really question it.

“Excellent.” Cas’s smile is bright and genuine again, like it was the day he found out that Dean loved him too. “I don’t want a minion and mindless obedience like your father requested Dean, and I don’t want someone who’s worried about offending or hurting me. I like it rough, remember? In every aspect.”

Oh Dean remembers.

“So I want us to be equals in every way. Like two pieces of a puzzle or whatever dumb cliché works best for you. Neither of us are the boss, and you’re definitely not the Pinky to my Brain.”

There’s a small pause as Dean tries his best to process what the fuck is happening, “Once again, why didn’t you just _tell_ me?”

Cas shoots him a look, reminiscent of Jess’s saying-everything-without-actually-saying-anything glare at the wedding. “In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to find practical demonstrations more helpful. And anyway, would you have listened? Honestly? If I’d just said ‘Dean, stop following orders.’”

Probably not.

Something must show in his expression, ‘cause Cas says, “Exactly,” like he’s read Dean’s mind.

“So you want us to be partners?” Dean can’t help himself, “like Bonnie and Clyde?”

Cas makes a face. “I did say that, didn’t I?” At Dean’s solemn nod, he shudders dramatically, “Yeahhh, sorry about that. No, they were stupid, we’re smart.”

Dean takes a second to allow the relief to flow, before he’s on to his next question.

“So _all_ of that,” he makes a vacant gesture with his hand, “all of that over the last week was just you trying to get me to stop acting like a good boyfriend and start acting like a good serial killer?”

“Kind of. Oh, except the marriage thing. That’s still totally happening.”

“You’re just not letting up on that are you?”

“Nope, and neither are you, which is good ‘cause I have _excellent_ ways of persuading you. I can play the long game.”

_You'll never take me alive._

They stand in silence for a few moments before Dean speaks again. “So what now?”

Cas shrugs, “We throw him in the back of a stolen car and drive up into the mountains. Kill him and bury him there. Your way has always made the most sense.”

 

***

 

Lieutenant Harvelle is in a black pantsuit with a white shirt today. It suits her better than the gray and purple.

“Winchester and Lafitte, can you bring us up to speed with the Vigilante case?”

All eyes are on them, waiting expectantly for some kind of breakthrough evidence that they just haven’t mentioned the last ten times they’ve been asked.

Benny shares a look with Dean. There’s literally nothing to add since she asked the day before. And the day before that. No relevant DNA was found at the crime scene and there have been no killings since (that the police know of anyway, obviously Dean knows differently). There’s nothing to say and Dean feels a little bad for killing Benny’s case like this, but he really doesn’t have much of a choice.

“There are no updates,” Dean says slowly, glancing around the room and stopping on Henriksen’s self-righteous expression. The man looks far too pleased with himself considering that he’s got nothing on his case either. Nothing relevant at least.

Arriving early can have its perks. Like snooping through a certain asshole sergeant’s case files.

Benny adds, “It’s like the guy is a ghost or something, we just can’t get a handle on him. And unfortunately, until he kills someone else, we won’t have a chance.”

Dean can’t help the small swell of pride in his chest; Cas is in his own league entirely when it comes to this.

“And still no witnesses have come out of the woodwork?” Singer asks, all business and no warmth. The two ‘press-hogger’ cases are still the biggest unsolveds the department has had in quite some time and the press are absolutely hounding the Captain for any information and judging by the dark shadows under Bobby’s eyes, it’s definitely taking its toll.

“None.” Benny shakes his head, like he can’t quite grasp the concept. “It’s all so weird. This guy is so careful for ages, then all of a sudden he’s leaving messages, opening himself up to getting caught and now he’s just vanished again. I mean, what could possibly be the cause of that?”

_Me._

“Dean?”

The panic – however fleeting – at the mention of his name after such a crucial question, is still squeezing his heart in his chest, making eloquence a moot point. “Huh?”

Singer raises an eyebrow, looking decidedly unimpressed at Dean’s supposed lack of attention. “Any thoughts on what your partner just said about the Vigilante’s sudden shift into the public eye?”

_Yeah, he wanted me to notice him even though I’d been in a relationship with him for two years. What kind of a boyfriend does that make me?_

“Not that I can think of.”

There’s a small pause, then Harvelle says, “Well, keep at it you two, he’s bound to have fucked up somewhere –“

_Except he hasn’t._

“– and we _cannot_ drop the ball on this, not with the media circling like vultures, so keep pushing.”

Dean and Benny both nod, because what else can they do?

“Right,” She turns her attention to Henriksen, “Henriksen you’re up. Give me something good.”

The sergeant steps forward, folder in hand and clears his throat, “Well, we’re not getting anywhere on the Alastair front.” He sends a poisonous glare in Dean’s direction, as if Dean is personally responsible for Alastair being a slippery fucker.

_If looks could kill…  it would make my life a fuck load easier._

“However, the mayor has stepped in offering a reward for information leading the arrest of the perp.”

All fifteen or so of the officers and detectives in the briefing room shift uncomfortably at the mention of the mayor of Los Angeles. Dick Roman – as his name suggests – is _quite_ the dick and he generally doesn’t do anything unless there’s a benefit in it for him, like good publicity, ‘cause the public seem to adore him even if the LAPD don’t.

Which immediately makes Dean suspicious of Roman’s motives. And if Benny’s skeptical look is anything to go by, his partner is thinking the same thing.

“How much are we talking here?” Singer asks, glaring at the group of detectives to Dean’s left who have broken out into hushed whispers. They soon shut up once one of them catches sight of Bobby’s glower and nudges the others into silence.

“One hundred thousand dollars.”

_Fucking Hell._

He’s definitely gonna be talking to Cas about that theory of his when he gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I'm not gonna be updating for a week or so as I have Asylum 12 at the end of this week and I'm going away today to visit my father/dog-sitter :D, but I promise I'll make the wait worth your while!
> 
> Fot those who are interested and aren't following me already, my tumblr is not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter Four - An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you wait for so long!  
> This chapter is part fluff and part serious plot, so enjoy!
> 
> Once again, thank you to all the legends who are still reading and commenting. Makes my week, so yeah, thanks!

When Dean gets home several hours later, Cas is sprawled out on the couch, television blaring with the theme song for Animaniacs and Dean quirks a small smile as he closes the door and throws his keys in the same ugly bowl, that they both agree is hideous, but are strangely reluctant to replace with something more tasteful.

“I can’t believe that I never noticed that you don’t actually do any work.” He teases and Cas looks up at him, answering smile warm and happy, and Dean feels something flutter in his stomach at the sight. The nomadic lifestyle was one that he’d never imagined not wanting; he was okay with moving from place to place to keep up his habit, but here he is in a domestic situation with Cas that makes him happier than he’d ever thought he could be.

Or than he deserved to be.

“I do work, you ass,” Cas says fondly, stretching up the extra couple of inches as Dean leans down to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek. “Just not the kind that earns us much money.”

“It’s alright. I’m okay with being the man of this house.”

Cas throws him a look that Dean is beginning to interpret as his, ‘fucking seriously?’ look. It’s one he seems to be getting on a more and frequent basis.

Dean pulls away and wanders into the kitchen, Cas’s voice following him, “when do Sam and Jess get back? It’s soon right?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, picking a tumbler up off the draining board, “Tomorrow in fact. I’m supposed to be giving them a ride from the airport.” He turns on the faucet and fills the glass, “do you wanna come with me?”

“Sure.”

There’s silence for a few moments as Dean gulps down the cool water. He’d kill for a beer instead, but they’d both agreed to start eating and drinking in moderation after their initial binge, lest Dean be ‘too chunky to be of any use in any aspect’.

Which is Cas’s semi-charming way of saying that Dean is packing on the pounds and that if he doesn’t stop, he’s going to do something drastic. Like make Dean eat nothing but salads again. Ugh.

“I can’t believe that it’s already been two weeks since they went away.” Cas calls as Dean swills out the glace and replaces it on the rack, upside down.

“Me either,” Dean admits. He’s kind of missed the soothing presence of his brother and his new sister-in-law. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that other people exist outside of him and Cas, and they provide a tenuous link to society in many aspects.

“How long are we gonna take for our honeymoon?”

And there it is. Dean sighs, but he’s still smiling. Cas is certainly persistent, and if Dean were a weaker man, he’d probably give in, but he’s not and there’s the little thing of Cas’s promise to ‘persuade’ him that Dean just cannot ignore. Wouldn’t want to.

Dean makes his way back in to the living room and stops in front of the couch, nudging at Cas’s knee to get him to move into a more sociable position. Cas obliges and Dean thumps down next to him, sighing contentedly. “I’m pretty sure we’d have to get married first,” he says pointedly, snatching the remote out of Cas’s loose grasp. “And we both know that I’m not giving in, no matter what you say do or threaten me with, so give me your best shot baby.”

“Ah,” Cas says, smirk gracing his lips, “the gauntlet has been thrown down. Challenge accepted.”

 

***

 

A meal - consisting of a wonderful homemade lasagna and perfect garlic bread - later, sees them once again slumped on the couch, Cas stretched out with his head in Dean’s lap, turned to face the TV.

Dean threads his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, twisting the silky strands, relishing Cas’s contented little moans.

He hates to shatter the beautiful moment where neither of them are more than just a normal couple enjoying a quiet evening in, but after Henriksen’s announcement about Roman, Dean needs to gain some traction with the department’s other investigation, the one that doesn’t involve them trying to hunt down Cas. “Are you gonna tell me your theory about Adams’ killer?”

Cas doesn’t move or make any indication that he’s going to answer the question; instead he closes his eyes and lets out a little sound that goes straight to Dean’s groin. Which is not helpful when he’s trying to focus on… well virtually anything other than fucking Cas.

“Cas?” He prompts after a few moments of radio silence. “What’s your theory on Adams’ death?  ‘Cause Dick Roman has offered…”

He trails off when Cas sits up so fast that they almost collide, narrowly missing by virtue of Dean’s quick reflexes. “He’s offered what?” Cas’s eyes are bright, his whole face animated, which is such a one-eighty from his sluggish lethargy from only a few seconds ago that for an instant, Dean fumbles.

“Err, a reward. Yeah.”

“For what?”

“Information leading to an arrest... well, conviction in Officer Adams’ case.”

Cas seems to absorb the information for a second before he jumps up off the couch, running in to his study. Dean hears the rustling of papers, the slamming of drawers and then seconds later, Cas is emerging with a bulging manila folder.

“See, this is what I do when you’re at work,” He says proudly as he resumes his position on the couch, one leg folded underneath him, facing Dean sideways. He slaps the folder down onto the cushion between them and Dean’s mystified expression must give him away, because Cas adds, “when I said that I’ve been working on this for ages, I wasn’t kidding.”

Dean takes a deep breath. That folder has to be several inches thick at least and he’s not sure how much information he’s actually going to be able to take on tonight, “okay, give me the run-down.”

“The short version? Roman has his fingers in a lot of pies,” Cas produces a glossy photograph from the folder, then another and another, spreading them out on the coffee table to his left and Dean’s right. “Drugs is the big one,” he taps the first photo depicting Roman shaking the hand of huge man in a grubby wife beater and too many shitty tattoos. Dean doesn’t recognize him.

“Who is that?”

“That?” Cas grins, looking pretty smug at having to explain Dean’s job to him. “He’s just known as ‘Jefe’.”

“Boss?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, so he’s a representative for a drug lord or whatever? A halcone?”

“It’s a cartel.” Cas corrects. “And yes, he’s a falcon*.”

A cartel. In Los Angeles. Well, _shit_. Working as a cop, he’s under no illusions about the crime in L.A. but he was at least under the impression that drug trafficking was somewhat well contained. If Dick Roman – the fucking mayor – is involved with a cartel, then apparently not.

“Okay, so,” Dean moves on to the next photo, which is one of Roman in an awful suit coming out of what looks like a brothel. It’s not entirely unexpected; the guy clearly isn’t squeaky clean – even ignoring the whole drug cartel thing – so he turns to Cas, expectantly, waiting for his boyfriend to enlighten him.

His lips curl into a tight smile. “A little side-line in prostitution. The cartel supplies the drugs directly to the prostitutes, keeping them placid and easy to manipulate into taking as many cocks as humanly possible. No orifice is exempt apparently.”

Dean ignores the prostitute part. The core problem is the drugs. He’s not naïve enough to think that if they get rid of the drugs that the girls who are currently hooked will suddenly become clean, but he’s gotta start somewhere. “Are we talking Cocaine, Meth or what?”

“The ole’ China White.” Cas grins, his attempt at a cockney accent pretty accurate for a guy who’s only had movies to go on.

“Fuck. Are we talking real stuff or the fentanyl shit?”

Either way they’re fucked, but at least with the purest form of heroin, at somewhere between 80-95%, it’s rarely cut with anything else. Fentanyl is kind of a bastard off-shoot, an opioid that is anywhere between fifty to one hundred times more potent than morphine. Overdosing is extremely common with either substance.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. Some people swear blind that it’s the pure stuff, others don’t.”

Dean could get Ed and Harry to maybe test a sample. Pay them some money to keep it quiet. Not that they wouldn’t anyway. Probably.

It’s a good idea, however, one very important question remains. “What does Roman have to do with all this?”

Cas shuffles through the papers in the folder, eventually producing a document from a solicitor’s office. “There’s a lab under his name in Laos. A lab staffed by highly competent professionals.”

He scans the proffered page; Cas really has done his homework.

“And the final picture?” He nods towards the coffee table. Cas reaches for the print and hands it to Dean.

“You may recognize the man seated opposite Roman.”

_Holy fuck._

“Alastair? Roman knows Alastair?”

Cas nods. “Apparently, if that picture is anything to go by. Alastair is the cartel’s Sicario.”

Alastair being a hitman isn’t news, but him working for a steady employer like the cartel, is. Dean has always been under the impression that he was a killer-for-hire.

“So what? Roman manufactures the product in Laos and the cartel focuses on transporting and distribution?”

“Pretty much,” Cas agrees, sweeping the pictures up off the table, slotting them back into the folder along with the paperwork and last photo that he plucks out of Dean’s grasp. “I also think he’s the reason Adams is dead.”

Dean’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. Sure, Roman is undoubtedly a scumbag, but putting a hit out on a cop and then offering a reward for the murderer’s capture seems a bit of a stretch, even with this latest information on the guy’s antics.

Cas seems to instinctively know what he’s thinking, because the next words out of his mouth are, “Double bluff maybe? Or he’s just keeping up appearances? He is the mayor after all.”

And isn’t that just a wonderful thought.

Whatever it is that’s going on, it definitely warrants more investigation. And the best place to start is to ascertain what kind of drugs they’re dealing with. Trace it on the streets to the dealers, get in with them and determine who the Capo of this whole operation is.

It’s easier said than done. But doable, definitely doable.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner Cas?”

Cas does his best to look contrite. “We’ve both kind of had a lot to get used to in the past couple of weeks. Knowing all this stuff is kind of a heavy burden to undertake and a lot of the info that I’m missing needs files or equipment that I don’t have access to. I didn’t want to put you in the situation where you either felt like you were obliged to help or if you did help, where you put yourself and-or your job at risk.”

“We’re partners.” Dean says without hesitation, because honestly, he feels none. “You’ve done all the legwork. The least I can do is pull my weight and do my best to get the rest of the info that we need.” It’s a completely sincere answer, which is still somewhat of a novelty.

Almost straightaway he’s got a lapful of happy, excited Cas and why he was worried about this, about _them_ when he first found out who Cas was, he really doesn’t know. “Fuck, I love you, Detective.”

 

***

After their rather serious conversation about Dick Roman and the cartel, Dean had – unsurprisingly –  pretty much forgotten about Cas’s threat to throw-down in respect of their ongoing ‘discussion’ (quotation marks are needed, because Cas has officially turned this thing into a war) of the whole marriage thing.

But it’s obvious by the way that Cas strolls in to the station the next afternoon, basket full of home-made muffins on his arm, like some angel of baked goods with his warm smile that melts even the most hardened cops like butter, that his boyfriend hasn’t.

Cas is fighting dirty.

And it continues like this over the next few weeks; Cas showing up at the station just around mid-afternoon with homemade snacks and slowly, but surely, he begins ingratiating himself with Dean’s colleagues, who all comment on his great cooking skills and general demeanor.

It’s a clever move and Dean is quietly impressed.

He’s also loathe to admit, because he’s never been much of an adrenaline junkie where his extra-curricular activities are concerned, but having the Basin Vigilante under the noses of so many officers of the law, does send a little thrill zinging through him, and judging by the quite frankly awesome sex they have when Dean arrives home every night, Cas feels exactly the same.

Homemaker by day, serial killer by night.

It’s pretty goddamn hot.

Of course, not everybody is enthralled by Cas. There’s always one, and of course it has to be the sergeant who already struggles with Dean’s existence, who decides to be a dick in front of the whole station on a day when Dean knows that Cas stayed up extra late baking a batch of cookies that were consumed within the first thirty seconds of him entering homicide, everyone moaning out their appreciation.

“What exactly are you trying to prove with this bullshit?”

Dean doesn’t bother looking up from the open file balanced on top of about twenty others, searching for more information on the Jefe guy. A real name would be a fine damn start. Since the talk with Cas, he’s kicked off his investigations, managing to get his hands on a sample of the drug and sending it through to the Ghostfacers (part of the keep-quiet arrangement is that he calls them by their night-time names) for analysis.

Turns out that the stuff really is China White, and at 92% pure, it’s some of the best stuff made in the last thirty-odd years.

The mayor is definitely not what he seems and Dean’s barely begun digging.

“What's the problem?”

Henriksen leans in closer, the scent of his aftershave cloying and forcing Dean to turn away, lest he choke to death on eau de asshole. “Your boyfriend being here all the damn time. Coming around with cakes and shit. What are you trying to prove? That you’re normal? Because I’m still not buying what you’re selling.”

Dean does look up then, swiveling around on his chair to confront Henriksen, pleasant smile on his face, though inside he’s about ready to prove something to the sergeant that has nothing to do with Cas’s cooking, and everything to do with his dexterity with a sharp object. “We’re not selling anything sergeant. Cas likes coming down here and talking to everyone.”

“He never used to.”

With flawless reasoning like that, Dean suddenly wonders how Victor isn’t in politics or something similar. It’s the type of bullshit thinking that Roman’s current opponent in the mayoral elections is spouting. But at least he’s not a fucking drug lord.

Hopefully.

“Well, ever since Adams was killed – you know Cas is friends with Carol, right? – he just feels like he wants to help out wherever he can and it just so happens that he’s great in the kitchen. It’s a small gesture, but if it puts a smile on the guys faces, then I can’t see the problem with it.”

Henriksen turns to glance behind him at the officers laughing and joking with Cas, who’s perched on Benny’s desk, looking every inch the guileless sweetheart. He plays the innocence role so well – obviously, as it had Dean fooled for years – that it’s hard to remember that he’s the same guy who shot and killed a pedophile two nights ago.

“This is bullshit.” Henriksen mutters. He straightens up and strides away from Dean towards the group of six or so, mission clear in his mind: ruin everything for everybody else. “Get back to work! In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got homicides to solve! And you –“ He turns on Cas, who looks up at him, good-natured smile in place, blue eyes beguiling and pure. “This ain’t no bake sale, we have work to do and you’re just clogging up the bullpen with your muffins and shit.”

The guys surrounding Castiel slowly wander off, each grumbling their various complaints with Victor’s attitude. However, Cas remains unruffled and Dean’s only a little proud that he doesn’t budge under the sergeant’s scrutiny.

“You all work so hard,” His smile widens, “I just want to reward you all for doing such a job. Is it a problem sergeant?”

“It is when you’re in league with freak show over there.” He points a finger at Dean without even bothering to look in his direction, so Dean shoots Cas a wink and a flirty wave behind the sergeant’s back.

Cas’s face breaks out into a genuine grin then and he slides off the desk, patting Henriksen on the shoulder. “Okay sergeant. I’ll go. But your detectives won’t forgive you if they don’t get the gingerbread men I was planning on bringing in later this week.”

A chorus of voices rise up from various desks in the bullpen in support of Cas’s argument.

“I don’t care!” Henriksen shouts above them all, trying to drown out the sound of the masses and Dean tries hard not to be smug about them siding with him and Cas over their sergeant. “It’s bad enough that I have to put up with your… _boyfriend_ , without you too. Now fuck off so we can do some work.”

It’s at this point that Dean’s almost tempted to marry Cas out of spite, just to piss Henriksen off, just to see the look on his face. It’s definitely going in Dean’s pros list, alongside: ‘ _by law_ , Cas has to make me awesome food forever.’

But it’s only as Cas passes by Dean’s desk, glint of mischief in his eye as he turns and blows Dean a kiss that Dean finally boards the train of thought that allows him to realize his boyfriend’s true intentions.

Cas showing up at the station was never about him ingratiating himself to Benny and the like. No, it was always about using Henriksen and his hatred of Dean and vice versa to help with his damned wedding campaign.

Either he’s waiting for the inevitable point where Henriksen  will explode at him, causing Dean to go into protective mode, which in turn will strengthen their bond both in front of his colleagues and – more importantly – inwardly, or – and this is kind of worse – he’s just hoping that Dean is immature enough to marry him on the flimsy basis that it will annoy the shit out of the sergeant.

_As if. Heh._

It’s almost embarrassing how easy Dean is to manipulate. ‘Cause so far he’s played right into Cas’s hands like a fucking fool.

But not anymore.

Dean looks up from his desk just in time to see Cas flash him a cocky wink as the elevator doors close.

_Oh, it’s **so** on._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mah tumblr is: not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com. I'm not especially interesting, but I am thinking about taking any prompts you guys have soon (any way I can put off doing taxes or any actual work!) so if there's anything anybody is interested in seeing me write, I'll do my best to make it happen!
> 
> Also! *falcon (Spanish: halcone): Considered the "eyes and ears" of the streets in relation to drug cartels.


	6. Chapter Five - The weak shall inherit nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it took me so long to post this chapter! I have no excuse, but I promise I'll be better with the next one!
> 
> It's late here and I promised that I'd get this chapter up tonight on pain of death, so it may not be 100% grammatically correct. Or even 50%. 
> 
> Also: [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/). Which is generally nonsense, spn stuff and porn.

Dean’s jaw cracks on a yawn just as he catches sight of Henriksen shooting a glare in his general direction which may or may not be related to the loudness of said yawn. This whole dual life thing is wearing him down slowly and he’s just so damn exhausted. He figures that he owes himself a reprieve, no matter how small – after all, he’s beginning to learn to appreciate the little things – and he spaces out, mind wandering to more interesting places, not fixing on one thought for too long, content to just meander around his own mind.

He’s just loosely pondering how Batman manages his double life; how he deals with the idea of nobody except his butler really knowing who he is, before it finally clicks that he’s being spoken to.

Well. At. Spoken _at_.

“Detective Winchester? Not keeping you up are we?” It’s Harvelle and today she’s zipped herself into a pinstriped pant suit that makes her calves look kind of chunky. Though he’s not so sleep-deprived that he’d say it out loud; he only wants to be unconscious, not dead.

The answer is obvious.

Well, both answers are. Yes, he is being inconveniently kept awake by his job at this moment in time, but – and this is far more important – the caped crusader doesn’t really have a day job that requires any effort. He just turns up as and when he pleases, gets Lucius Fox to build him some shit, argues with the board of directors and then disappears again.

Being a billionaire would make things so much easier. He and Cas could go whatever, do whatever, _kill_ whoever.

Even better – he could have a goddamn Batmobile.

Cas may not approve at first, but then Dean would buy him two sets of diamond encrusted knives – one for the kitchen, one for his other hobby – and they’d both be happy, rich, carefree –

– And not about to fall asleep standing up.

“Nuh,” he replies, coming off about as intelligently as he feared he would and he shrugs apologetically, “sorry, just been running myself into the ground a bit.”

Which _may_ be a minor understatement, because between working on finding the Basin Vigilante – who Dean knows for a fact is sitting on the couch at home watching Popeye (Cas texted him a picture of Bluto, asking Dean why they changed his name to Brutus) – doing research on Roman, and still finding time to drive murdering scumbags up into the mountains to kill, he’s been _slamming_ himself into the ground. Over and over.

The lieutenant’s face softens, brow creasing faintly and if he didn’t know better, he’d say it was concern that has his boss’s gaze flicking over to Benny.

“Detective Lafitte, can you shed some light on what the fuck is going on with your vigilante? We’ve heard nothing for over six weeks.”

A flash of panic crosses Benny’s features, but he reins it in quickly, “there’s nothing. Dean and I are chasing this guy’s shadow and the trail is getting colder by the day. We’ve been through every single scrap of evidence we have… there’s nothing else we can be doing where this case is concerned.”

It’s the same speech they’ve been giving word-for-word for the last month and a half.

She looks back at Dean, who feigns a weak smile, “he’s right Lieutenant.”

The Captain’s entire demeanor crumples, suddenly looking as tired and downright _drained_ as Dean feels. “Listen,” she turns on the entire room of detectives, “guys, we’ve got the fucking feds breathing down our necks on this one. All it’s gonna take is one more murder from this Vigilante and the place will be crawling with them.”

Obviously, Dean knows that another murder from the Vigilante – one that will be discovered by the police at any rate – will not be happening, but the threat of the FBI? They could always just decide that not enough progress is being made and turn up anyway and that’s _really_ going to fuck up his research on Roman.

Not to mention, the feds are just hated on principal; rolling into town full of attitude and expense reports, turning everything upside down, taking credit for anything they stumble across and then fucking off again, hailed as heroes.

A visit from the FBI would be bad for everyone.

He and Cas are going to have to figure out some way of killing the Vigilante and therefore, the investigation.

 

***

 

Cas is waiting for him when he gets home, ready with one of the best hugs that Dean has ever been at the receiving end of and he wonders how he ever managed without this level of affection; without allowing himself to be intimate with someone on this level. His hugs with Cas _before_ had always been good, but this is just…right. For a while, they just stand there, Dean inhaling the calming scent of Cas, reveling in the familiarity and comfort that his presence intuitively brings now.

When Cas pulls away, he’s smiling affectionately at Dean, eyes filled with nothing but love and it makes Dean swallow hard, heart stuttering in his chest, “take your shirt off.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, which is about the only movement he can muster at this moment in time. There’s no way that he’s awake enough for sex right now. No matter how good it always is. “Cas, I can’t –“

Cas shakes his head softly, a knowing smile tugging the corners of his lips, “Not for that. I just want to make you feel good. Get you to relax.”

He squints at Cas for a few seconds, trying to decide if this is another one of his little ploys. Not that he hasn’t been enjoying the back and forth of their game, but Dean is too weak to fight back in any capacity tonight. Though it’s not like he usually makes any real impact with his failed attempts at sabotaging Cas, because he’s just too good; too smart, and it’s a little unnerving that so far Dean has been thoroughly outgunned and thwarted at every turn.

However, all that will change; he has something big planned for Cas’s birthday in a couple of weeks that should _finally_ outflank him, because up until now – what with Cas’s baking and sweet disposition – the battle has been a little one-sided.

Dean smirks to himself. He’s perfectly capable of playing the role of gracious loser for the time being if it makes him look less suspicious; Cas’s time will come and he’ll rue the day he decided to _engage_ (hur hur) in a battle of wits with Dean Winchester.

“What are you grinning at, Winchester?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies a little too quickly if Cas’s cocked brow is anything to go by. “I’m just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

“Yeahuh,” Cas replies, clearly not convinced at all, gesturing for Dean to take off his suit jacket, holding out his hand to take it. “You’re a shit liar.”

Only because Cas has the uncanny ability of being able to see him in a way that might be creepy to anybody else, but to Dean it’s mostly fascinating; occasionally annoying – like now, for instance.

“I’m a fantastic liar,” Dean replies, meaning implicit, handing the jacket to Cas, who drapes the garment over the arm of the couch before turning back to him.

“I know you’re up to something,” Cas declares, fingers reaching for the buttons of Dean’s shirt, “you know I’ll find out, right?”

Internally, Dean scoffs. But he says, “It’s something for your birthday and I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” No lies. Lies of omission don't count.

Cas’s face softens, eyes dewy and Dean feels the crush of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t go through with the plan, maybe it’s too harsh? After all Cas is just as fucked up as he is; not always interpreting social cues accurately. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt Castiel.

He’ll think on it some more when his head is clearer; when it doesn’t feel full of cotton wool and sand.

Cas finishes with the last button, and reaches up to push the shirt off Dean’s shoulders, laying it on top of the jacket in a way that Dean is silently thankful for, ‘cause fuck only knows what kind of state his clothes would be in if it weren’t for Cas playing house husband; washing and ironing Dean’s suits and shirts and treating them with the care that Dean simply doesn’t have the time to extend to something so mundane when he has perverts and murders to dispose of.

He grips Dean’s wrist with slender, but firm fingers; a way of telling him without words that resistance is futile, so Dean goes easily, letting Cas manipulate him onto the couch, so that he is seated between the ‘v’ of Cas’s spread legs, his back to Cas’s front. It’s not the most comfortable he’s ever been, but Cas is radiating warmth and it’s too easy for Dean to let the tension from the day – and the hundreds of days previously – to drain out of his body, eyes sliding closed with a relaxed sigh.

He hears the uncapping of a bottle and then seconds later the beautiful smell of – what Dean presumes to be – the massage oil; jasmine and vanilla fills his senses. He barely has the energy to flinch when cool liquid, only slightly heated on Cas’s fingertips, touches his bare skin tentatively, working in various patterns, gradually getting bolder with each stroke.

“We’ve gotta do something to close the Vigilante case,” Dean mumbles, eyes flicking open, leaning back into Cas’s dexterous touch on his shoulders. His entire body feels heavy, like he’s getting pulled down by quicksand, but it’s a strangely pleasant sensation. “It’s killing me at work. Benny too.”

“Mmhmm?” Cas says, dropping a kiss just below Dean’s left ear, the soft press of lips making the blood heat in Dean’s veins. “And pray tell, Detective Winchester, what should we do?”

Dean drops his head, letting it loll back on Cas’s shoulder, his eyes slipping closed one again, in quiet contentment. “Don’t know. You’re the brains of this operation.”

Cas lets out a small chuckle as his hands knead the knotted muscle just below Dean’s shoulder blades. “Thought we agreed that we were both the brains?”

“Meh, I can live with being the brawn.”

Cas moves one slick hand along Dean’s shoulder down to his bicep and squeezes, eliciting identical groans from them both.

Over the past month and a half Cas has become more amorous, audacious and definitely more infatuated with Dean; touching, squeezing and generally harassing Dean whenever he can, and a lot of times when he can’t. Like at the station.

Not that Dean’s complaining; he’s never had it so good.

“I can certainly live with you being the brawn,” Castiel murmurs, tongue curling lasciviously over the words with a knack that Dean both admires and fears, because it’s just so damned effective.

Except for tonight, because Dean feels like he could just sleep for an eternity and he’d still be pissed off when he woke up.

“Cas, I couldn’t get it up even if I wanted to.”

His boyfriend doesn’t reply; just hums thoughtfully and continues working on the aches in Dean’s muscles, slick fingers gliding over Dean’s flesh, firm some times, and gentle at others. It feels so good, so soothing and the smell of jasmine and vanilla combines in an all-out assault on Dean’s senses; partly sending him to sleep, partly working desire into a slow burn that climbs up his spine, creating a pleasurable warmth throughout his entire body.

“C’mon baby.” Castiel coaxes softly, voice silky smooth, fingertips skating their way down Dean’s chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples and Dean sucks in a shuddery breath.

Goddamn it.

His dick gives an interested twitch and he can _feel_ Cas’s smirk against the skin of his neck, “You were saying?”

Dean groans when Cas’s other hand snakes around his waist, aiming for the button on his pants, and then Cas sinks his teeth into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, causing Dean's hips to jerk, thrusting up into the palm of Cas’s hand that has somehow not only managed to undo Dean’s pants, but also slide into his boxers, fingers tracing the semi-hard silky length.

“Cas…” he warns, voice coming out barely above a whisper, not really sure what he’s warning against, but at least he’s putting in a token effort.

“It’s okay baby,” Cas soothes, “I just wanna make you feel good. You take such good care of me. You take such good care of everybody. You deserve this.”

For once, the automatic retort dies on his lips. He doesn’t want to argue the point with Cas, just wants to feel this forever, feel Cas’s hands on him working him into a slow frenzy, mind awash with pleasure, body tingling with anticipation.

“That feel good?” Cas murmurs, pitched low and easy, syllables lapping gently over Dean’s consciousness, smoothing the way for his next question as his hand lazily jerks Dean off, “can I fuck you?”

Dean’s eyes flutter open, but he doesn’t tense. He considers his answer for a moment, “You wanna ride me?” Cas makes a noise in the affirmative. “Okay, but if I fall asleep, it’s nothing personal, I swear.”

“Gee thanks.” Cas mutters dryly, hand in Dean’s pants slowly withdrawing, “what every guy dreams of hearing when he’s about to give his boyfriend the fuck of his life.”

“Cas, I can’t take the fuck of my life. My heart will give out and I’ll die. Do you want that on your conscience?” Dean’s only fifty percent certain that he’s exaggerating.

Cas huffs a laugh, “you’re right, stud. Maybe just take it nice and slow huh?”

Dean has enough presence of mind to shuffle forwards on the couch to let Cas out from behind him, but then he’s falling back on the cushions, barely sitting up and his eyes are closing, the siren call of sleep lulling him in, drawing him closer to sweet oblivion –

It’s like the very best kind of dream when he feels slick heat enveloping his cock, so tight and perfect glide as Cas sinks down onto Dean’s dick, breathy little moans pressed against Dean’s ear and suddenly Dean's awake - _just_ \- mind in that wonderful place where he's not entirely lucid, but still conscious enough to appreciate exactly what's happening.

Dean’s hands instinctively reach up for his boyfriend’s hips, gliding over the smooth curve of Cas’s ass, holding him steady as he adjusts to the feeling of Dean inside him, completely full, arms roped around Dean’s neck, bodies pressed together and it’s so intimate, so unlike the crazy fucking that they’ve been catching up on that it takes Dean’s breath away with the intensity of it.

Cas leans forward, pressing his forehead against Dean’s, slightly tacky with the sweat already beading there as he begins to move, gentle hitching motion, his cock smearing pre-come between their stomachs and it’s hard for Dean to remember any reason why he may not have wanted this ten minutes ago.

It’s all slow undulation of hips, bodies moving together in a timeless rhythm that they seem to naturally fall into, instinctively knowing the steps without having really studied the dance. Dean’s sleepiness is magically rescinding; giving way to desire and all he wants is to make this last for as long as possible; be this close to Cas forever, imprint himself just under the surface of Cas’s skin, so that the whole world can see and know that Cas is _his_.

Slow, deep thrusts gradually evolve into something a little more frantic; rhythm – along with composure – lost in the desperate need to chase orgasm, desire to feel Cas come around him, squeezing tight and oh so damn perfect.

“Cas,” he breathes, ragged gasps making their way past his lips, “Cas, baby, you’re my everything,” any semblance of composure is a struggle to reach; coherency just out of his grasp as his orgasm slinks up on him, drenching his nerve endings in pure bliss until he can feel nothing but the way he and Cas are connected in every conceivable way, bound together by something much stronger than blood or lust.

“Dean,” Cas pants back, mouths mere centimeters apart, “I love you… so much, so… perfect… my _fucking hero_.”

Later, he’ll blame it on sleep deprivation or his imminent orgasm, but in that instant, Dean sees everything he wants from his future; everything he wants his future to be in the form of the man currently writhing in his lap, head tilted back, exposing the long line of his throat, so flawless, so pure.

He _wants_ to marry Cas.

In that split second, frozen in time, he wants so badly to be able to call Castiel his husband; call him ‘mine’ and know that it’s wholly true, that his throat feels thick with it, thick with the unexpected emotion that the realization brings.

He comes, still grinding his hips frantically against Cas, shallow thrusts, as Cas follows him over the edge, throaty moan ripped from his throat and buried in Dean’s sweat-soaked skin.

 

_Godfuckingdammit._


	7. Chapter Six - The Ties That Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys!   
> I now have a schedule for my longfics, which I shall be sticking to. This one is going to be updated every Friday. 
> 
> Thank you for your words of encouragement :)

Dick Roman visits the station the next day; all false smiles and snake oil.

Despite the general atmosphere of disdain radiating from homicide, the man seems undeterred and makes a point of talking to every single detective individually, pestering about their caseloads, their working environment, like he actually gives a damn and isn’t planning the budget cuts that will see the department losing officers or important equipment.

Of course, he’ll wait until after he wins the election for that. He’s a politician, not a fool. Though the two are far from mutually exclusive.

It’s also conveniently the same day that Sam is starting in homicide; bright-eyed and bushy-tailed against the backdrop of his older brother, who is only marginally less tired but still grumpy as fuck due to Roman’s presence.

Nothing at all to do with his orgasm-induced epiphany.

Sam is sitting on Dean’s desk in that way teachers do; perched annoyingly, hovering, and Dean just about manages to rein in the urge to snap at him to get the fuck off the desk and sit down properly, and was he raised in a damn barn, ‘cause Dean sure went to a fuck load of trouble to see that that didn’t happen and –

“Winchester is it?”

Christ, even his voice sounds like pins and needles.

Sam jumps up immediately, puppyish enthusiasm propelling him forwards, whilst Dean sluggishly rises to his feet, reluctance evident in every move he makes, but if Roman notices, he doesn’t say a word, just grins infuriatingly and peers over Dean’s shoulder at the folders on his desk.

“Are you the Detective in charge of the Vigilante case?”

“Me and Detective Lafitte, yes.” Dean replies, curt and professional. He doesn’t need to look at Sam to know the disapproving look he’s undoubtedly getting.

Roman carries on, not even stumbling over Dean’s brusqueness. “And what is the latest?”

“Nothing new for the last six weeks,” Dean replies, weary. He’s getting more than a little sick of having the same conversation over and over again, and it’s not like he and Cas really got anywhere with their discussion on what to do to get rid of the Vigilante the previous night and –

As if on cue, Benny comes rushing over, note from what looks like dispatch clutched in his hand. “Dean! Dean! We’ve got another body! Our Vigilante!”

Dean freezes. It isn’t possible. Unless Cas is having another funny turn or trying to teach Dean some kind of Yoda style lesson. Neither of which are entirely outside the realms of possibility.

Which is why instead of responding like he probably should, like an actual professional, he instead asks, “Are you _sure_?”

He can immediately sense several pairs of eyes on him, no doubt including the Mayor’s.

Benny reels back, looking at Dean as if he’s suddenly sprouted another head. Which would be useful, because at least maybe he could sleep and let that one take over. “Yes brother, I’m sure.” He glances at Roman and Sam as in that apologetic way that says, ‘He isn’t usually like this, honest’.

Whatever the fuck is going on, Cas is going to have some explaining to do.

 

***

 

So as it turns out, Cas is kind of brilliant. Which of course, as previously discussed, Dean already knew. But every so often, he does something so utterly awesome – in the original sense of the word – that Dean has to fight the urge to drop to his knees to worship at the altar of Castiel Novak.

Today, he has solved one huge problem in the form of putting the Basin Vigilante to rest.

Sam is riding along; keen to get to work in homicide and Dean is really making a resolute effort to be more like the older brother that Sam deserves. Even if it’s exhausting. Which is why Sam is currently squatting down next to the body of a supposed Vigilante victim, white gloves on as he inspects the corpse, checking the pockets for any clues as to the identification.

Meanwhile, Benny is approximately ten feet away, examining the other body which has been dumped in the massive dustbowl that is the LA Basin.

“So Sammy, tell me what you think happened here.”

Sam turns to look over his shoulder at Dean, throwing a hand over his eyes as a shield from the sun. “Well, judging by the wounds on this guy,” with his free hand he gestures to the body in front of him, limbs wrapped loosely in the same kind of thick rope that Cas used in Charles Bain’s murder, accompanied by an assortment of knife wounds on the torso, “he was the intended victim.”

Dean nods, “And Benny?”

Benny doesn’t turn around when he answers, instead just calls out, voice deadpan, not yet trembling with the excitement it undoubtedly will later when realization fully sets in, “Dean, I think this is him. I think this is the Vigilante.”

Dean pretends to act aghast, but really, he’d already had the scene sussed within the first ten seconds of them arriving.

It’s simple really. Cas has set the whole thing to look like a Vigilante killing gone awry.

Body number one – almost definitely some kind of criminal scumbag – died from bloodloss due to multiple stabwounds sustained from a prolonged attack most likely from body number two – the Vigilante – however, in his dying moments, body number one rose up and took body number two by surprise, they grappled, but ultimately body number two was stabbed in the back, severing his spinal cord and puncturing a lung.

The knife lies between the two dead men, slightly closer to body number one, covered in blood – and unquestionably – both sets of fingerprints and no others.

It’s fucking genius.

 

 

***

 

When they get back to the station – that as a bonus is now Dick-less too – Dean feels like a ten-ton weight has been lifted off his chest, and the urge to just take the rest of the day off and spend it fucking Cas on every surface in their house is proving a strong one to resist.

Though it becomes a moot point when he sees who is leaning against his desk, legs crossed over at the ankles, demure smile in place. Dean vacantly hopes that he’s managed to save him and Sam a muffin each, ‘cause the basket next to Cas’s feet is looking pretty empty.

“I heard you had some good news?” Cas asks in that totally innocent way that he has, the one that is in perfect dichotomy with who he actually is.

It’s then that Dean begins to wonder when Cas had the time to do it all. He could wait until the lab results come back, but it would be much simpler – and quicker – to just go straight to the source of the double homicide and ask him, because there’s no way that he crept out of bed last night. Dean barely slept, he would have noticed if Cas had gone missing for the length of time it would have taken.

“Hey babe,” Dean greets his boyfriend with a gentle close-lipped kiss, reining in his desires, because he really wants to do bad things to Cas right now, and he could do without giving Henriksen another reason to hate him. “Hopefully. You know that vigilante I mentioned? The case I’ve been working on for months now?”

Cas’s frowns, feigning the ignorant spouse perfectly. “Oh, the one on the TV? Yeah, I remember.”

Dean smiles. “Well we think we’ve got him.”

Cas’s returning smile is blinding. “Oh that’s such good news! Well done Detective!”

Sam appears to Dean’s right and Cas’s left, some of the excitement from earlier tampered by the long hours they’d spent in the sun studying tiny fibers from the clothes, blood from the weapon etc. “The bodies are in the morgue. I’ve sent the evidence for processing and Benny says he’s going to introduce me to the guys in forensics, but he said it with a creepy smile. Should I be worried?”

Dean thinks about telling his brother the truth. Harry and Ed are a rite of passage that every new homicide detective has to face before they can be considered a member of the team. Dean’s in no position to take that away from Sammy.

“No, they’re fine. You’ll be fine. They have an interest in the paranormal though, so be sure to ask them about that.”

That was probably a little unnecessary.

As Sam wanders off to meet his doom in the form of two very over-zealous lab techs, Dean turns back to his boyfriend. “So, I suppose a hearty thank you is in order?”

Castiel throws his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling them closer together, in a way reminiscent of the night before and Dean flinches a little. Castiel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I can think of at least five ways you can thank me. Though there’s one way specifically…” he trails off suggestively and Dean knows that it isn’t the sexy kind of suggestive. He pulls away and runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at Cas.

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean, suspicion in those baby blue evident. “What is up with you? Ever since last night you’ve been…jumpy.”

Dean knows he replies to quickly when he says, “I’m fine.”

“Why do I find myself not believing you?”

“Because you have a distrustful mind?” At the expression on his boyfriend’s face, Dean relents, pulling Cas in for another hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I ever tell you how wonderful you are?”

Castiel stays silent for a moment, but then seems to let whatever he’s thinking, go. Though Dean should be so lucky if it’s permanent. “Yeah, but I never get sick of hearing it, so you can spend the rest of our lives telling me once we’re married.”

Dean feels all the color drain from his face, last night’s little epiphany coming back to him in damning Technicolor. He can _sense_ the smug smile on Castiel’s face.

He clears his throat, eager to avoid the question. “Wanna go out and celebrate?”

“Or we can stay in and celebrate and talk some more about our relationship?”

There is absolutely nothing else in the world that Dean would want to do less. “Sure thing. Whatever you want, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter Seven - Would I lie to you, baby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise for the lateness of this chapter. Sorry guys!
> 
> Also, it was originally supposed to be a lot more plotty, but I felt like I needed to clear up a few things before moving forward and then it was far too long and blah.
> 
> I'm far from happy with this chapter, but it's about as good as I can get it without going insane! It may get tweaked in the near future.
> 
> As always, you legends who are leaving me words of encouragement are very much appreciated.

Dean’s plan that had seemed so thoroughly genius, when he was mostly wishing he was unconscious and staying awake on two hours of sleep and copious amounts of coffee, actually now – in the cold light of day – really _does_ seem pretty fucking cruel.

Asking Castiel to marry him with the intentions of coasting on the engagement for the next ten years or so, for the soul purpose of winning some stupid competition between them is not only a poor tactical move (from a purely pragmatic point of view), but also something that he doesn’t want for Cas.

Looking back – because hindsight is 20/20 – it’s easy to see now that although Cas’s moves were manipulative; ‘cause there’s no doubt that he’s an expert at that, they were coming from a good place. He wants Dean to marry him. Which is insanity to such a degree that it’s taken Dean this long to realize why he’s so resistant to the idea. It’s certainly not anything to do with lack of love for or desire to be with Cas; it’s more that he still can’t wrap his mind around having someone else he can rely on, someone who genuinely has his back, someone who sees him and still wants him, let alone loves him enough to want to get married.

The thing that frightens Dean the most isn’t just his own social ineptitude, because – despite appearances to the contrary – Cas is right there beside him, it’s the fact that he finally has someone who is everything he’s ever wanted, - and figured he didn’t deserve – since his father slapped a gun into his palm at the age of ten. And he still isn’t quite sure how to deal with that like a semi-normal person.

Though, by deciding not to act like a cock, it feels like progress is being made.

“You okay man?” Sam materializes behind him and Dean flinches, slamming a forearm protectively over the case files, like a kid in school trying to prevent others copying his work. It’s probably not the most discreet he’s ever been, but Sam  _cannot_ see the files on Dick Roman.

“Fine Sammy,” he says, throwing on a smile, closing and shuffling the folders into a non-descript pile. He twists in his seat to face his brother. “What’s up?”

“It’s just after six.”

It takes Dean a few moments to catch up; yes it is after six, a quick check of his watch confirms it, but it doesn’t explain why his brother seems interested in stating the obvious.

“I’m impressed, Sammy. You’re only,” he fumbles, trying to remember how old he is and subtract four years from it. Shit, Cas would know this, “errr, twenty five?” Sam doesn’t respond negatively, so Dean continues, “And already you can tell the time. Those extra lessons must be paying off.”

Sam rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated, but too good-natured to just tell Dean to shut the Hell up. “Hilarious Dean. Cas’s party is at seven, remember? Shouldn’t we be getting home?”

“Shit.” Dean meant to finish way earlier than this, but he’d gotten buried so deep in the whole Roman thing that time has just galloped past. Though, it was kind of worth it, because now he has a plan and Cas is going to love it.

“It’s okay. He knows how important work is. He’s used to you running late by now.”

And no. Just no. That isn’t going to cut it anymore. It didn’t even cut it a few months ago when he’d forget important dinners, turn up late, do generally anything to avoid going home, but now? Definitely no fuckin’ way. It can never be that way again; Cas is his priority now and forever. Nothing else is – or ever will be – more important.

Dean gathers up the folders, hefting them into the crook of his elbow, keeping them close to his chest as he rises from his seat, “I’d better get home. You guys know what you’re doing, right?”

Organizing a surprise party for Castiel had been supremely difficult, what with him ‘working’ (aka, watching cartoons and doing the odd bit of research) from home. It meant that there was no way to get him away from the house for several hours without it looking suspicious and – as Dean has been discovering – he just can’t really lie to Cas.

Which is why it’s all the more surprising that Cas hasn’t already figured that Dean’s up to something. Unless he has and he’s playing some kind of game with Dean again.

Dean considers that option for a moment. It’s always a possibility with Cas and it’s making him more than a little paranoid.

No, he’s _pretty sure_ that Castiel has absolutely no idea.

Either way, it’s a good thing that his brother and sister-in-law stepped in, offering up their place happily. The look of pleasant surprise on Jess’s face had been memorable and she’d even pulled Dean into a tight hug, smelling sweet with her floral perfume and natural pretty scent. She’d said that it was ‘about time’ and that maybe was growing out of the ‘typical Y chromosome cliché.’

He’d told her that she had Cas to thank for it and he’d meant it.

Growth indeed.

 

***

 

“Hey baby,” Cas looks up from the spread of folders on the coffee table, smile casual and carefree as Dean closes the door behind himself. “Good day?”

Dean shrugs, nonchalant, trying not to let his ridiculous excitement about Cas’s party show. He can’t remember the last time a kill had him as jittery as this; maybe he should seriously look into a career as a party planner. “Yeah, I guess. Spent most of it going over Adams’ murder, trying to figure out what the endgame there was.”

Cas turns his attention back to the files; copies of the ones that Dean had been going over at work. “You get anywhere?”

“Not yet, but I’m getting close, I think. Things are starting to fall into place.” He drops down onto the couch next to Cas. “I’ll let you know my theory as soon as I’ve pieced it altogether.” Really though, he’s got one, but it’s all part of the plan for Cas’s birthday, so it’s with every effort that he restrains himself from telling his boyfriend.

It’s such a better surprise than a stupid fake proposal.

Castiel leans sideways into Dean for a kiss, the smooth press of Cas’s lips against his something he instinctively craves now. “Hey,” he smiles, not taking his eyes off Cas’s face, following the curve of his jaw, remembering just how enamored he’d been with Castiel the second he’d seen him at the shitty dive bar Sam had dragged him to.

He’d been in the middle of a high-profile case, suffocating under the weight of the press clawing at the doors of the station and Captain Singer pressing him hard – harder than the Vigilante case – and Sam had insisted on a few drinks to get Dean to relax.

Dean doesn’t believe in fate, but the more he thinks about the fucking odds – again, death by coconut is more likely – of two serial killers meeting in a bar in Los Angeles, the more he comes around to the idea of cosmic intervention. Kismet or something.

All he knows is that the second he’d seen Cas, he’d wanted him. For reasons that didn’t make sense at the time, but are definitely making themselves apparent now.

“I love you Cas.” It’s said with every inch of sincerity that he has in his body. There’s no hesitation where there once was.

Cas’s eyes soften, not entirely understanding where Dean’s sudden attack of feelings has come from, but rolling with it nonetheless. “I love you too Dean. So much.”

“So,” Dean pulls away a little, trying to put a little distance between himself and the _Moment_. He tells himself that it’s to stop Cas from being suspicious, but that’s far from the whole picture, “It’s your birthday and I’d like to take you to dinner.”

Cas’s entire demeanor changes, lighting up from the inside out and Dean’s heart suddenly feels at least ten sizes bigger, swelling with so much love that it makes his chest tight. He embraces the feeling; it’s something he never thought he’d be capable of.

His father’s voice is still there in the back of his mind, gnawing away, reminding him that he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t invest this much in another human being, but Dean is slowly learning how to use his compartmentalizing skills to ignore the John Winchester on his shoulder and instead listen to the angel on his other.

_His_ angel. His angel in a city supposedly filled with them.

 “I thought you’d forgotten.”

Dean isn’t allowed to be hurt; after all he’s not exactly boyfriend of the year, but that doesn’t stop the sting he feels from the words. It doesn’t matter. Today is all about making Cas happy and so Dean swallows down his hurt and rustles up a genuine smile.

“Never. Go get dressed.”

Castiel pouts, eyes twinkling with mischief, which never bodes well for any time constraints they may be under. “You mean I can’t go dressed in your sweatpants?” It’s an understatement to say that Cas is aware of just how _happy_ him wearing Dean’s clothes makes him. Especially the sweatpants that are too big and therefore hang delectably low on his hips, showing off creamy skin and the curve of Cas's wonderful ass that Dean struggles to resist.

Resist he must though. And if everything goes to plan tonight… well, he’s pretty sure that Cas will be showing his gratitude later, “If it were up to me, you know you could.”

Castiel huffs, but it’s good-natured and he presses another kiss to Dean’s lips before he jumps off the couch and makes his way to their bedroom, calling out without looking back, “How long have I got?”

Dean checks his watch. Almost six forty-five.

“Five minutes?” He braces for the inevitable slew of curses. As it turns out, his angel has quite a mouth on him when annoyed. It’s both scary and a turn on.

“What?” He can hear Cas opening and closing draws in their bedroom. “Are you serious, Winchester? I can’t make myself looks decent in five-fucking-minutes! Fucks' sake, you never give me enough time; this is just like the Smith killing the other week! I mean, fucking phoning me when you’re at the end of the street with a body in the goddamn trunk! You are infuriating beyond belief --“

Dean waits for a lull in the rant, before tentatively asking, “Cas?”

“ _What?”_

“Three minutes now.”

As Cas starts up again, Dean bites his lip to keep from laughing. He pulls out his phone and types out a quick text to his brother to let him know that they’ll be on their way in a few.

 

***

 

“Which restaurant are we going to?” Castiel is next to him in the car, hands folded in his lap, staring out of the window, the control-freak in him needing to know exactly where they are and what’s going on at all times.

For once, _just once_ , he wishes that Cas would let go enough to allow Dean to surprise him.

He keeps quiet; doesn’t even bother to come up with a lie, choosing instead to silently enjoy the way his boyfriend squirms against the fabric of his seat, clearly agitated.

For all of his cursing and shouting about how he’d never look decent in five minutes, Castiel has – as usual – performed some kind of magic, because he looks fucking perfect; casual, but smart in a navy button-down and black jeans. His hair is flawlessly messy, which is an oxymoron that Dean is all too familiar with where Cas is concerned and he looks fresh-faced and handsome.

Dean undoubtedly looks just as tired as he feels.

When they pull up on Sam and Jess’s driveway moments later and Dean cuts the engine, Cas turns to him, “Sam and Jess are coming too?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

Dean flings his door open, swivels his hips and slides out in one fluid motion, whilst Cas remains seated. When it becomes apparent that Cas has no intention of getting out, Dean places his forearm on the cool metal of the car roof and ducks his head back in. “Babe, come on.”

Castiel frowns. “Why do I need to get out? You’re driving us all there, right?”

A better question: why does Cas have to make everything so difficult?

_Think fast._

“Yeah, but I think they have a present to give you first.” It’s lame, but it’s all he’s got.

“Oh,” Cas unbuckles his belt, looking uncertain. At this point, Dean figures that his boyfriend knows that something is up; he just isn’t entirely sure what, “okay.”

Dean flashes a smile. If Cas looks properly, he’ll see it’s fake as Hell, but luckily his boyfriend is far too preoccupied with his own thoughts, desperately trying to put the pieces together to make a cohesive picture, to notice Dean’s crap attempt.

“It won’t take a moment, I’m sure.” Dean reassures as he locks the car and they meet at the front bumper, walking up to the pale pink house together. Cas slips his hand into Dean’s. “By the way, thank you.”

“Huh? For what?”

Dean inclines his head towards the house, “For not making me paint our house pink.”

As always, ready with a razor-sharp retort, Cas says, “I’m saving that punishment for a rainy day.”

Dean grins, jogging up the step to the door and presses his thumb into the button. He frowns as the polyphonic tune plays, “Is that Greensleeves?”

Cas nods, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a wry grin, “Don’t worry. Even I’m not that cruel.”

The door opens inwards and Dean tugs on Cas’s hand, yanking him forwards and pushing him into the house, before Castiel has a chance to respond or resist. 

The first thing that strikes Dean is how classy the place looks. Sam and Jess have done a wonderful job with the decorations; the one area of tonight that Dean wanted absolutely nothing to do with, ‘cause blowing up balloons and getting tangled in streamers? To say that he doesn’t have the patience is a serious understatement.

The balloons are all rich – adult – colors (Dean had visions of oranges and bright blues) and there is a long table lined up with all of Cas’s favorite foods; cheeseburgers, pizzas and all of the bad stuff that they’ve both spent years avoiding to keep up appearances. Jess and Sam had seemed surprised when Dean announced the shopping list for the party, but once he’d given some bullshit explanation that Cas used to be fat when he was younger and now mainly tries to eat healthy stuff, Jess had smiled in sympathy and even gone so far as to help Dean find the lower fat options, because ‘if you can’t have a food blow-out on your birthday, when can you?’

Dean totally agrees.

“Surprise!”

Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Cas throughout the entire big reveal; friends popping up from behind bits of furniture like excited children and bursting into a rousing version of ‘happy birthday’, all smiles and silliness. It’s a thing of beauty, watching the way Cas opens up, going from guarded and nervous to exuberant and happy as the song unfolds and he takes in the scene before him. In fact, it’s just about the most beautiful thing that Dean has ever seen.

Cas turns to him as the thirty-or-so people in the room finish the song, tears shimmering, threatening to spill down his cheeks. The raw emotion Dean can see in his boyfriend’s expression reminds him of the day they really found each other, “You did this?”

Dean shrugs, feeling all kinds of awkward with Cas’s eyes so heavily focused on him, studying every freckle, every line, every crinkle, utter adoration written all over his handsome face. “Yeah, I mean Sam and Jess helped obviously,” he gestures over to the couple smiling so wide that he fears Jess might just crack, in a vague attempt to take the focus off himself. It doesn’t work; Cas’s eyes still linger and he looks like he wants to say something, but he stops, sucking in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he throws his arms around Dean’s neck, body taut against Dean’s, breath ghosting over his ear, “this is the nicest thing that anybody has ever done for me.”

Cas is so well put together that sometimes Dean has trouble remembering that his boyfriend is just as damaged as he is. Neither of them have gone into any great depth about their pasts, but Dean knows enough to infer certain things. He _does_ know that Cas was never fat as a child though. For continuity reasons, he’ll have to relay the little lie that he told Jess to Cas at some point.

Cas is still beaming from ear to ear as he unhooks himself from Dean and gets whisked away, disappearing into the throng of people here to celebrate his birthday. Watching Castiel integrate seamlessly – just like he did at the wedding – is always cause for admiration, but this time there’s something different about it, something easier.

It’s only as he’s watching Cas hiding in plain sight, making small talk with people that think they have a clue about what makes Castiel tick, that Dean is hit with a realization so strong that it feels like a physical blow.

It was never supposed to be him and Cas against each other.

It’s always supposed to have been him and Cas against the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter Eight - We don't have to take our clothes off to have a good time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. The last chapter got a bigger response than I was expecting, so thanks for that you awesome people :).  
> Apologies for the lateness of this one, but it is a bit longer, fluffy and plotty to make up for it. I hope. 
> 
> Enjoy guys!

Standing in Sam and Jess’s living room surrounded by people, it’s hard to remember that mere months ago Dean would have felt like an outsider; an intruder in a world that he was never supposed to a part of. Hell, even at Sammy’s bachelor partyhe’d spent most of the evening on the fringe, observing but not participating.

Now, that is no longer an option, because Cas is relentless, dragging Dean through the crowds of people, not giving him the opportunity to lurk in the shadows that were his home for so long.

Cas is – and always has been – a natural at this; at ease with those around him, able to come across like a functioning human, warm and caring in a way that Dean has yet to master. As usual, it sends a little thrill through Dean knowing that he’s the only one who is lucky enough to see the _real_ Cas, ‘cause he’s even more amazing than this version, and this version is pretty fucking spectacular.

That said, there are only a certain amount of empty platitudes he can take before he wants the birthday boy all to himself. Within the first ten minutes, he’s already scraping the bottom of his patience barrel.

He watches with thinly veiled boredom as Cas chats to one of the wives of the guys at the station, only half listening, much more interested at the commotion coming from the kitchen where he watched Sam, Benny and several others sloping off to a few minutes ago.

It isn’t until a loud, “Oh what a fucking prick!” exclaimed in a southern drawl makes its way over the music that Dean finds an appropriate excuse to leave Cas’s side. They’re only discussing rock cakes or some shit, so with a quick press of lips to Cas’s temple and a half-smile, he’s off towards the kitchen and his salvation.

When he enters the pristine white and black kitchen that’s all shiny marble and clean surfaces, Dean’s eye is instantly drawn to the small flat screen television on the island next to a bowl of fruit.

The fruit looks fresh. Which suggests that it gets eaten rather than just being there for show.

_Just... why?_

Benny and Sam are at the front of the group focusing intently on the screen, brows creased, fists clenched, looking the kind of angry that only religion, sports or politics incites.

Dean isn’t interested in football or any other pointless sports that they’re probably watching, so he goes to turn on his heel, resigning himself to an evening of listening to Cas discussing ten different ways to crack an egg, when his brother calls out to him.

“Dean!” Sam smiles, dimples showing. “I was just showing these guys around ‘cause they couldn’t believe that Jess let me get a TV in the kitchen –“

“So we turned it on and…” Benny gestures at the screen, “we got angry. Mayoral debate.”

Dean is suddenly interested, but does his best not to show it as he casually strides around the island to place himself next to Sam. “What’s happening?”

“Well Crowley and Roman are discussing budget cuts. Roman is all for the ‘pragmatic approach’ whilst Crowley is trying to save ‘vital services’.”

Ah, yes. Crowley. He’s certainly enough of a slimy fucker to give Dick Roman a run for his money, but on principal alone, Dean feels the hatred for Roman burning just that little bit stronger.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, leaning closer to the screen, not quite sure whether he’s going to feel the evil rays emanating from the TV, “it’s like Kang and Kodos for real.”

“What?”

It’s at times like this that Dean wonders about his brother.

“You know,” he waves his hand in a circular motion, not taking his eyes off the debate, watching Crowley gesticulate wildly as he yammers on about his stance on LA’s traffic issues, “the aliens from the Simpsons, when they clone Bob Dole and Bill Clinton.”

At the mystified silence behind him, Dean straightens up and turns to face the people that are supposed be his peers. He opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it again, pointing a finger in Sammy’s face. “I am _not_ explaining this to you.”

He never thought he’d say this, but discussing rock cakes might actually be the slightly less rage-inducing activity of the night.

 

***

So, he’s back to square one. For now though, he has Cas all to himself and whilst he can’t take full advantage in the busy room, it doesn’t mean that he can’t still relish the time with his boyfriend before Cas is whisked off to the more exciting world of meringues.

“Why are you friends with all these middle-aged women, Cas? Is it a secret fetish that you’ve neglected to tell me about or something?”

Cas tilts his head back in a laugh, eyes sparkling with mirth when they return to Dean’s face. “No. It’s a good cover and have you never seen Desperate Housewives –“

Dean interrupts, unable to just let that slide. “Jesus Christ, you watch some utter shit, Cas. If you can’t behave responsibly, I’m gonna take the TV away from you. Watch some porn like a normal guy.”

Castiel cocks a brow. “Like you’d know all about _normal_ , right? I mean, you’re standing there like you’re bored out of your mind –“

“That’s because I am.”

Cas slaps Dean lightly on the shoulder; a warning shot. Cas has quite the mean right hook if Dean irritates him enough. “If you want to blend in, you need to socialize.”

His boyfriend might have a point. Even the most inept husbands and boyfriends are managing to make small talk, no matter how awkward and this is Castiel’s birthday party after all. He really should make more of an effort.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it though. In spite of – or more likely; _because of_ – his years spent living as the quintessential gray man, he seems to be kicking out more and more; fighting against the bonds that held him in place for so long. He’s thirty in a couple of months (he double checked that with Cas earlier), and the only person in the world who knows that his favorite song is a tie between Rambling On and Riverside Blues, as opposed to Beethoven’s Ninth symphony, is Cas.

It’s like he’s going through the typical rebellion that most people hit in their teenage years, when they start acting out against their parent’s rules. Maybe it’s just as well that John is dead or Dean may have started sneaking out at all hours (not just to kill people, either), taking every opportunity to shout at the top of his lungs, “You don’t _know me_ , dad!” and slamming his bedroom door bone-shatteringly hard.

Castiel continues pointedly, “What I was getting at before I was _so rudely interrupted_ ,” he reaches up to straighten Dean’s shirt collar, brushing away invisible dirt, “bored housewives gossip. _A lot_. I’ve found out some great information from these ladies before.”`

“Like how to make a simply _dah-ling_ pecan pie.”

“Laugh it up, asshole.” He can tell that Castiel is deliberately holding in his smile, but Dean has been studying Cas’s reactions for over two years; there’s no hiding from him, not anymore.

Dean opens his mouth to say just that, when a cry to Dean’s left erupts at a pitch too high to be anything other than an excited – and possibly tipsy – Jessica.

“Oh God, you two are just so painfully adorable together!”

Dean closes his eyes and swears softly under his breath. He hears Castiel’s amused chuckle. “No rest for the wicked. And you are most definitely wicked.”

Dean winks open an eye to look at his boyfriend. “Yeah? You gonna show me just _how_ wicked when we get home?”

In lieu of an answer Castiel pushes himself up on his tiptoes to plant a kiss squarely on Dean’s lips. The feel of Cas against him is something that Dean will never tire of; comforting and intense all at once, and all he wants is _this_ for the rest of his life.

His brain helpfully reminds him that people who feel this way usually get married.

The kiss is over as soon as it begins, just a cute peck for their audience rather than the heavy make-out session that – judging by Cas’s darkened expression – his boyfriend wants just as much as Dean does.

“Go talk to someone. I promise you that it won’t be as bad as you think.”

And that doesn’t take Dean back to his first day at school. Nope, not at all. Which had been just as bad as Dean thought. And then some.

Apparently reenacting a violent drugs bust that your detective father had you sitting in the car for was not a good way to win friends and influence people.

“Fine.” Dean acquiesces, “But regroup in about half an hour, so I can give you your presents?”

He can see Cas’s mind whirring with the possibilities; dirty thoughts blurring into genuinely curious ones as he turns away to squeal with Jess.

Floundering for a moment – how the fuck did he ever do this without Cas? – he spots a familiar face in the crowd and makes a beeline for her.

Carol Adams – widow of Officer Bryce Adams – is a good woman. Dean has spoken to her a few times since her husband’s funeral, mostly in passing when she comes round to visit Cas, and she’s softly spoken and very kind-hearted. Cas seems to genuinely care for her and it makes Dean’s heart ache to be reminded that before he pulled his head out of his ass, Carol was Cas’s closest friend.

She’s sitting – perching – on the edge of Sam and Jess’s leather corner sofa with an almost full glass of wine held elegantly in her hand and a far-off look in her eyes.

So as not to intimidate, Dean sits down next to her rather than looming. Cas would be proud. “Carol?”

She startles as if she really hadn’t seen Dean, her expression blank which then flickers into recognition when she turns to face him. “Oh, hello Dean!”

He smiles as warmly and as un-serial-killer-y as he can muster. It must be okay, because she smiles back. “You look like you were far away there. Was it somewhere nice?”

Her smile falters, just for a split second, but Dean catches it. “Nowhere special.” She takes a delicate sip of her wine, “This is a lovely party. Thank you for inviting me.”

Dean graciously chooses not to comment on her momentary slip. “Of course. You’re a good friend of Cas.”

He follows her line of vision to where Cas and Jess are standing, leaning in with heads close together like they’re conspiring. Dean would usually be worried, but their eyes are clearly focused on Sam across the room, so he just smirks inwardly, happy that on this occasion he’s not the target.

Carol makes a vague noise of assent, before turning back to Dean. “He’s been amazing since Bryce’s death.”

_‘I’ve found out some great information from these ladies before.’_

It mildly occurs to Dean that whilst there’s definitely some kind of mercenary element to Cas’s visits with Carol, there’s also a very real aspect of friendship there too.

So Dean makes an effort, because that’s what you do when you love somebody, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” she quickly reassures in that way Dean has seen hundreds of times. Usually from people who are anything but.

So he says the only thing that he can think of. “We’ll find the basta– animal who took Bryce from you.“

Her smile is watery when she looks at Dean again. “No offense Dean, but your colleagues are looking in the wrong places.”

_What?_

“Sorry Carol, what do you mean?”

She sighs. “I’ve explained to Detective Henriksen a thousand times that Bryce was working on more than one case for the GND.”

Even though he’s been snooping through his sergeant’s case files, Dean’s never seen a mention of a second case that Adams was working on. Any and all potential leads must be followed up and documented, no matter how fruitless or pointless they may seem, so either Victor has deemed Carol’s information irrelevant and not made a note of it, or he knows and he’s deliberately kept it quiet.

Dean isn’t sure which is worse.

_Fucking Victor._

“Tell _me_ ,” Dean says emphatically. “It could be important.”

She looks skeptical – which Dean doesn’t blame her for one little bit (again, fucking Victor) – but after a few moments she leans in a little closer to Dean. “I don’t know much except that he mentioned once or twice about some super strong brand of heroin that he’d found on the streets. I can’t remember the name –“

“China White?” Dean interrupts, heart pounding faster than it has any real right to.

She clicks her fingers, “That’s it. I think a lot of his work was strictly off-record. It took its toll on him and Castiel really helped me out, you know reassuring me, keeping me company on some nights when Bryce didn’t come home.”

The ‘when you weren’t there either Dean’ is left unsaid.

Well that explains a Hell of a lot. Like where Cas got his not-so-crazy theories from and why he even started investigating Roman in the first place.

“And you’ve told Henriksen this?” He just needs to be sure. Because this will complicate things a little.

“Yes. He said that he investigated, but the case was closed and there was no mention that Bryce was ever on it.”

Now that part is actually true; Adams’ case history was one of the first things Dean checked out. So it looks more like Henriksen couldn’t be bothered with the extra paperwork rather than him being an employee of Roman. Which is a little disappointing; Dean would have loved to see the look on Henriksen’s face as he slowly bled out, realizing that he was actually right about Dean all along and knowing that he was going to take the knowledge to his grave.

The sergeant really brings out Dean’s sadistic side.

“Okay,” Dean nods. “Okay.”

He and Cas will discuss exactly what this means later.

 

***

 

“Are you gonna tell me what my present is?” Cas asks, as Dean fumbles with the light switch in Sam and Jess’s spare room, until with a triumphant noise he gets it and tugs Cas into the small space, slamming the door shut behind them.

He’d had to bring Cas’s presents over here to keep them a surprise, because there’s no way that with all the time on his hands, Cas didn’t spend hours in the lead-up to his birthday snooping for any kind of hint.

Dean may have been a shitty boyfriend, but that never stopped Cas from hoping.

Dean reaches up and tenderly runs his thumb along Cas’s jaw, the stubble there a familiar roughness against Dean’s skin, “Which one?”

Cas’s whole face lights up, almost childlike in excitement, “I get more than one?”

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat, trying not to give himself away when he manages a raspy, “Fuck yeah you do baby. What do you want first?”

“You.”

Dean groans. If they were anywhere else than his brother’s house right now then Castiel would already be naked and getting the blow job of his life. “Later, Cas.” Reluctantly, Dean pulls away to retrieve the presents form the walk-in closet. He doesn’t need to see Cas’s face to know that he’s pouting.  

“Promise?”

Dean’s about to ask when he’s ever needed to make Cas a promise that they’re going to have sex, but then he remembers Cas’s birthday last year and how he spent most of alone, because Dean was busy putting an end to a serial rapists miserable life.

_Holy fuck, I’m an asshole._

It costs Dean nothing when he says, “I promise babe.”

 

***

 

Ten minutes later sees them sitting opposite each other on the floor, surrounded by colorful balls of wadded gift wrap (Dean had gone out of his way to find Pinky and the Brain paper – yes it exists),  and Cas is like an excited child at Christmas, making Dean’s heart swell yet another size for the millionth time tonight.

At this rate, he’s going to go into cardiac arrest before they get to the sex bit.

Dean sucks in a deep steadying breath as he reaches into the large hold-all for another present. These last two are the big ones; the other stuff that Dean splashed out for was just filler for the main event.

He hands Cas the smaller present first and watches as his boyfriend rips into it with gusto, like he hasn’t just unwrapped another dozen or so before this one.

It takes a few seconds of squinting at the straps of material in his hands before Cas looks up at Dean, a quizzical expression on his face, “A holster?”

“A _thigh_ holster.”

A slow smirk spreads across Cas’s face, lips curving up into a mischievous smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Dean doesn’t trust his voice enough to answer verbally right now. Cas is staring at him in a way that is so synonymous with some of their more crazy sex sessions that Dean feels his dick hardening in his pants; practically a Pavlovian response at this point.

Cas – the bastard – knowing exactly what reaction he’s inciting in Dean, moves fluidly to straddle Dean’s thighs, so that they’re chest-to-chest, his mouth millimeters from Dean’s ear as he purrs, “you’re a pervert, Detective Winchester.”

And Jesus _fuck_. He’s pretty sure that Cas doesn’t even need physical weapons to kill people; this here is enough to incapacitate practically anybody.

“Maybe a little,” Dean concedes with a flash of a smile, trying not to focus on the way Cas feels against him, “and whilst I am not opposed to you wearing nothing but the holster – _seriously_ , please feel free to wear nothing but that for the foreseeable future – it is linked to your final present.”

Cas shifts slightly in Dean’s lap, inciting pained moans from them both, as their semi-hard, still-clothed-and-why-is-that-again dicks are pressed together, “…W-Which is?”

It’s good to know that he’s not the only one almost too turned on to function. He clears his throat, ignoring the way Cas’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Well. First thing’s first. I’m gonna teach you how to use a gun properly,” he cuts off Cas’s protest before he can even start. Dean is well aware that his boyfriend is proficient with firearms (and _holy shit_ that is not helping the erection situation), but it’s about more than that. “I mean military training. That and some police academy stuff thrown in for good measure too.”

“Okay,” Cas says slowly, eyes searching Dean’s face for some kind of answer. “But why? Not that I’m complaining?”

Dean jerks his head to the hold-all sitting to his left and Cas’s right. “Your final present.”

Cas leans over, one hand on Dean’s shoulder for balance as he pulls out a white A4 envelope. He looks at Dean, eyebrow raised in a question.

“Open it, Cas.”

Castiel obliges, pulling out several sheets of paper and tilting his head, studying them carefully, “These are copies of blueprints, right? For where?”

Dean smirks, adrenaline already beginning to pump thick and fast through his veins at the mere _thought_ of what he’s about to say, “City Hall.”

The amount of palm greasing and favor-calling-in that he’d had to do to get hold of the damn things was nothing short of ridiculous. But it would be worth absolutely everything, because in Cas’s widened eyes, Dean can see that his boyfriend already more than on board with the idea that Dean voices out loud for the first time since he’d decided to go through with it.

“Cas, we’re going to kill the mayor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/)


	10. ...but it's better if we do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhh, I really have no excuse for how long this has taken. Sorry guys, I'll be quicker with the next upload.
> 
> Also, I think I may have forgotten how to write, so please just go easy on me!

God, Cas feels so good stretched around his fingers.

It’s rare that Dean gets him like this. Cas usually preps himself; yet again, some small way of taking control. But not this time. This time, Dean gets to slowly open Cas up, enjoy the slick-slide of his fingers inside the hot clench of Cas’s body, relish the gorgeous moans that fall from kiss-swollen lips.

“Feel good baby?”

What started out as a playful birthday fuck had quickly evolved into something altogether darker and baser, the two of them shoving through their front door, fused from lips to legs, barely managing to stumble up the stairs without Dean giving in to the primordial urge to be inside Cas. (“No Dean, we’re not fucking on the stairs, I’m too old for that shit.”)

Now Dean is glad that he waited, because seeing Cas laid out on his back on their California King, all smooth pale skin and tight muscle, one leg bent at the knee, an invitation that Dean wouldn’t even begin to know how to refuse, was more than worth the precious seconds that it had taken to get from the stairs and dressed, to the bedroom and naked.

Cas’s response is ground out through gritted teeth, back arched, whole body twisting and limbs tangling in the linen sheets as he tries to get Dean inside deeper, “You know the answer to that, hurry up and fuck me already.”

Whilst Dean’s dick is definitely on board with that idea, he drags in a deep breath and tells himself to take this slowly, to enjoy it, to draw it out, to educate Cas on what it feels like to not be the one holding all the cards for a change.

He wants Cas to lose control, wants to see him the way no one else is allowed to because he belongs to Dean. Only Dean gets to have this, gets to see Cas without the layers of restraint and control that his boyfriend never leaves the house without, wraps himself up in like a security blanket.

It’s something worth savoring, even if Dean is so turned on that he feels sick with it.

“No.” His voice is barely above an almost unrecognizable guttural rasp and if some perverse part of him is enjoying the role change – the student becoming the teacher – then it’s purely coincidental.  “I want you to tell me Cas.”

Fevered blue eyes lock onto Dean, cloudy with lust and something else that Dean has only ever seen when Cas takes away a life.

It makes Dean’s nerve endings sizzle to be at the receiving end of that look, a stark reminder of the danger that Cas keeps so well restrained from the rest of the world. But not from Dean, never from Dean. Not anymore and not ever again.

Dean crooks his fingers, working inside Cas’s trembling body, valiantly ignoring his boyfriend’s increasingly desperate pleas to fuck him.

“ _Fuck_.”

Dean agrees wholeheartedly with that sentiment and would say so, if it wasn’t taking all of his focus to not just fuck Cas and be damned with any lesson. Sweat prickles at the back of his neck; a physical manifestation of the impatience that has him barely able to restrain himself.

He can’t bring himself to care that he’s had _practical_ training on how to withstand torture, on how to keep cool under harsh conditions when death is certain, because years of military training and discipline did not prepare him for _this_. Nothing could prepare him for _this_.

For Cas.

Dean’s voice is wrecked, thick with lust and pitch-black with sin when he manages to scrape out, “Tell me how it _feels_.”

He can feel the reticence, can feel the way every straining muscle in Cas’s body tenses impossibly further at the command, not wanting to submit, possibly not even sure _how_ to. Dean can’t tear his eyes away from Cas’s face as he strokes the pad of his index finger over the bundle of nerves buried inside his boyfriend, relishing the harsh intake of breath, the stuttered exhale and fluttering lashes.

And then finally – _finally_ – Cas lets out a low, shaky moan, his surrender hard-won and given reluctantly, making it taste all the more sweet to Dean, “F-feels good – _fuck._ Love it when you—when you touch me. Please. I ne—need you.”

“So beautiful,” Dean’s words are whispered like a prayer, his lips touching the skin pulled taut over Cas’s stomach, a tender gesture amidst the push and pull for control. “You’re so fucking beautiful Cas.”

Cas doesn’t respond verbally, but instead keens when Dean removes his fingers and crawls up Cas’s body, trailing kisses over the sweat-shiny, heated skin of his stomach, ribs and chest, all the way up to his collarbone. Dean sinks his teeth into the meat of his boyfriend’s shoulder, as Cas’s fingernails drag red jagged lines across Dean’s biceps, thrashing under him like a wild thing, breathless pleas and threats of payback running into one long whine when Dean reaches for the lube on the nightstand with sticky fingers and slicks up his cock.

Braced on his arms above Cas, muscles taut and burning in a sweet agony, Dean sinks into Cas achingly slowly, each inch making Cas’s breath hitch and Dean’s carefully maintained control slip further and further away, until he’s buried deep and has to still for a couple of seconds, jaw clenched, trying to pull himself together long enough to make this as good for Cas as he deserves.

Cas, for his part, is barely coherent, short nails digging into the thick muscle of Dean’s shoulders, urging him on with crescent-shaped marks gouged into his skin and helpless whimpers that only serve as an accelerant to the fire blazing low in Dean’s stomach; more than just lust making him feel like every single nerve in his body is burning with the need to possess and dominate.

“Dean, _please_ —“

It’s the desperation buried deep in the tremor of Cas’s voice that does it and Dean is not strong enough – would _never be_ strong enough – to deny Cas what  he wants, what they both want.

What they both _need_.

Dean draws back slowly, a final exquisite tease, before he twists his hips and shoves in deep, slamming their bodies together, driving a strangled moan from the back of Cas’s throat.

It’s a Heaven unlike Dean’s ever known – or thought he would ever be anywhere close to – being inside Cas like this; an experience that would make him seriously consider converting to an organized religion if he hadn’t already found his God. The same God that is rocking up to meet each of Dean’s powerful thrusts like it’s what he was made for, like everything he needs is right here in this moment.

Cas surges up at the same time that he tugs Dean’s head down so that their mouths collide and fuse together in a kiss that makes Dean light-headed and when they break apart Cas doesn’t allow him to go far, breathing ragged against Dean’s lips as Dean drives into Cas harder and harder, relishing the mewling sounds his boyfriend makes.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice is fraying around the edges, no composure left and Dean relishes the victory, feeling more powerful than he ever has, even when a life has been in his hands. This is so much more than that, so much more _important._ This is _Cas_ giving himself over willingly; trusting Dean wholeheartedly in a way that he’s probably never trusted anyone else before, and that alone has Dean’s rhythm faltering, on the brink of an orgasm that already feels like absolutely _everything_.

Cas is the strongest person that Dean knows; stronger than himself, stronger than John – the one who’d gifted Dean with the life he was destined to lead, then deserted him when he couldn’t stand it – but Cas… Cas isn’t leaving him, can bear to look at Dean, almost looks at him in a way that Dean never thought he’d need or deserve.  

Like Dean isn’t a monster. Like Dean is worth a damn. Like he needs Dean just as much as Dean needs him.

“Stop it,” Cas grates out, with his uncanny ability to read Dean like an open book when others prefer not to look beyond the summary. He clutches Dean’s face in clammy hands, cradling his jaw, forcing Dean to look down into earnest blue. “Don’t doubt it. I need you, Dean.”

“Say it again,” Dean pants, so close, desperate to hear the declaration over and over for the rest of forever.

“I need you Dean --More than—than--I’ve ever needed a-anything.”

“Again.” Dean demands against chapped lips, biting out a curse on the next thrust which forces all the breath from his lungs, the feeling of being inside Cas so exquisite that he’s not sure how he’s even lasted this long.

A choked-off gasp, sudden overwhelming tightness and then Cas is coming completely untouched, stomach muscles seizing, the pulsing of Cas’s cock between their bodies igniting Dean’s own orgasm, heat spreading through his veins like wildfire. His entire world whites out with the force of it, hips stuttering as he spills inside Cas, riding out his orgasm until he’s numb with it and he lets his weight fall against his boyfriend, pressing him into the mattress.

Dean’s not sure how much time – it could be seconds, minutes or days later – ticks by before he hears a thoroughly fucked-out, slightly pained voice say, “I’ve always needed you, Dean. Even before I knew you, I needed you.”

The admission sounds like it costs and Dean manages a flutter of a smile, before muttering, “Marry me?” and then promptly passes out.


	11. I'd live for your smile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reet. I am being more organised atm and as my course draws to a close (3rd June is the last day), I'm gonna be updating a lot more like I used to. This particular story probably only has another two chapters, but the series was always meant to be a trilogy, so my aim is to get that done by the end of summer at the latest, alongside finishing off the other two works. (Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea & Wrong side of Heaven, Righteous Side of Hell). I may also find some time to write the next couple of installments for the Fucking with Fire series as I have got a few thousand words already done.  
> I shall do my best to catch the fuck up! 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is a bit of silly, fluffy nonsense, 'cause as we all know, serial killers are just the cutest! As usual, please skirt round any and all errors, I literally sat down at my computer this morning and didn't stop until I felt like this was at least adequate.

Dean doesn’t often get the chance to sleep in. Usually he has to be up and about for any number of things including, but not limited to, work, investigating Dick Roman, and dismembering people. Today, however, it isn’t his alarm or body clock that wakes him, but the tantalising feeling of someone pressing delicate kisses to his forehead, cheeks and finally, lips.

Dean opens his eyes, blinks a couple of times, and finds himself eye to eye with captivating blue; not just the run-of-the-mill blue, no, somewhere in the region of cerulean, but not quite that mundane or easy to categorize.

“Hi,” Cas smiles down at him, soft and real, far more a morning person than Dean ever is – or will be – and so damned beautiful that it makes it hard for Dean to swallow around the sudden surge of emotion he feels, swelling in his chest like a maelstrom that threatens to crack him open. Cas’s expression is totally open and uninhibited in a way that Dean rarely gets to see, spontaneous and honest and _just for Dean_.

“Hey Cas,” he croaks, the crotchety demon to Cas’s serene angel. He’s very conscious of his morning breath, and no doubt from their close proximity, so is Cas. He has the good grace not to show it. Or maybe he just cares for Dean so much that it fails to matter.

“I thought I’d give you your answer.” Dean is so caught up in Cas’s unavoidable happiness, and how good it looks on him that it takes his brain a few extra seconds to process the words.

Dean can tell that his own returning smile is membrane-thin, watery, as internally he panics, frantically spooling through memories of the previous night. The party was great, the presents were well-received – _very well received_ – and the sex was…

_“Marry me, Cas.”_

Oh shit.

After his stupid plans for a fake proposal, the irony is far from lost on him, and he lets out a pained groan.

Castiel’s smile falters, dims a little for just a split-second before he’s throwing back on a brighter, faker smile, grinning like it’s nothing, no big deal, and he’s moving off and away from Dean, putting distance between them physically, but it’s not the physical that hurts, it’s the emotional, the metaphorical.

Whilst it had definitely been a spur of the moment thing, and completely insulting to Cas’s intelligence to insinuate otherwise, Dean had still meant it. Still _means_ it. It’s just… He wishes he could do it differently. Cas deserves better than being offered a lifetime of being manacled to Dean as a footnote to sex. It’s not how Dean imagined asking Cas to put up with him forever and it’s almost certainly not how Cas would have wanted it to go down.

Cas is getting dressed, pulling on clothes in that angry, jerky manner he has when he hasn’t killed in a while and despite the scores of bodies buried in Los Angeles thanks to Dean, he has never felt like a worse human being than he does in this moment.

“Cas,” He reaches out for his boyfriend, fumbling, hand snagging in the loose fabric of his shirt before Cas snatches it out of his grip. “I want you to marry me.”

Castiel stops but won’t look at him, and how the fuck is Dean such a goddamned fuck up?

Dean goes on, hoping that for once, the words will come out how he means them, rather than as an awkward jumble of nonsense that Cas has to fight his way through to get to the truth. “I want you to marry me. But –“ Cas sighs like he has every right to, and Dean carries on regardless, “-But I want to ask you properly. Like you deserve. Down on one knee. In a restaurant. In front of our family and friends. With a gun in my hand and blood on yours. I don’t give a shit. Whatever you want. Just not like that.”

For what could be days, months, fucking _years_ , Cas does nothing, says nothing. Just stands there paralyzed. If it weren't for the slow measure of his breathing, Dean would think the world had frozen in time – the very laws of physics broken by his own fucking stupidity.

Cas is silent. Until he’s not, and he chokes out a giggle that sounds only slightly hysterical. Dean would be insulted if he weren’t so concerned at the prospect of this being a prelude to his untimely death. In Cas’s defence, it would probably be thrown out of court. All he’d have to do is recite the proposal, explaining just what a clusterfuck his recently bludgeoned to death boyfriend was, _“And that’s why I did it, your Honor,”_ and he’d be home and dry.

When Cas does finally speak, it’s rushed out on a heavy exhale. “Thank fuck.”

Which, _what_.

“What.”

Cas finally turns to him, eyes shiny, but not with tears. At least, not unhappy ones. “I was gonna say no.” Before Dean can flail about in exaggerated offence, Cas holds up a hand to stop him. Which isn’t very fair; if Cas gets a Drama Queen moment then Dean should too really. “I was going to say no because I will not accept a proposal that was gasped out in the middle of an orgasm –“

“ – to be fair, it was after I’d come –“

“ – so whilst I very happily accept the idea of being married to you, I do not accept the way in which it was proposed. Ask me again when your dick isn’t in my ass. And preferably when you don’t pass out straight after.”

And Dean can do that. He can totally do that.

 

***

 

Really, Dean should have seen this coming. In theory the thigh holster was a perfect present. In practice it’s not working out that way, because they are surrounded by cops and he really can’t be dealing with getting a night in the cells for indecent exposure. Cas is all power stance and hard lines of lithe muscle beneath a threadbare shirt that actually belongs to Dean, his handsome face a mask of concentration.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Cas in his clothes. It’s not the first time he’s seen Cas with a gun. But it _is_ the first time he’s seen Cas with a fucking thigh holster, wearing his shirt with a gun in his hand, looking so natural and fucking perfect that – not for the first time – Dean wants to drop to his knees and worship at the altar of Castiel. The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and Scientology exist, so creating a religion dedicated to Cas can’t be that hard, right?

Dean almost wishes that Castiel wasn’t such a good aim, at least that way he’d have a good excuse to get closer and rub his rapidly hardening dick against his boyfriend’s perfect, smooth-skinned –

“Hey Dean, heard you were down here.” Benny appears to Dean’s left, looking tired but still managing to smile, shield hanging on the chain around his neck, dark stains at the pits of his navy shirt.

Cas empties the magazine of his .45 and turns to look at Dean over his shoulder, wiggles his ass and winks slowly with the perfect amount of suggestion, before refocusing and reloading with a proficiency that does nothing to slake the aching want that Dean feels right down to his bones.

He really needs a cold shower.

 “Yeah, just brought Cas in to practice. He just wants to bone – “ _poor choice of words, Winchester_ “– up on his skills.” Of course, he makes no mention of the real reason that they’re here; Cas’s training so that they can take out the mayor in a couple of weeks. Dean already feels fidgety with the excitement of it, palms twitching with the need to be covered in blood.

Benny nods genially, watching Cas shoot off another few rounds at the paper target. “Don’t look like he needs it though brother. He’s a better shot than you.”

Dean gives his partner a good-natured elbow to the rib. “And by proxy, you too Lafitte.”

Benny clutches his hand to his heart and makes a pathetic wounded sound. Dean grins, genuinely happy instead of just playing at it.

The place is emptying out now, many of the officers switching over onto their shift for the afternoon, grumbling about one thing or another as they begin to vacate the stale space.

“How come you’re down here anyway Benny? Doesn’t Harvelle have you doing more busywork?”

Benny scratches blunt nails through the salt and pepper scruff covering his chin. Dean idly wonders when Benny went home and was actually _there_ , rather than just going through the motions. “Just takin’ a break. She’s drivin’ me insane over the Vigilante. Even now.”

Dean nods his understanding. It’s not quite empathy, but it’s probably closer to it than a few months ago. “Yeah, man. I hear you. I’m glad the fucker’s dead though. No less than he deserves.” Despite knowing that he doesn’t mean it, he’s irrationally glad that Cas can’t hear him, – the goofy ear protectors make sure of it – wouldn’t want to ever aim that venom in his boyfriend’s direction.

Jesus Christ, he’s so pathetically gone on Cas.

Benny nods. “At this point, it ain’t even about the people that he killed. It’s about Harvelle _still_ being up my ass. I wish we could’ve taken him alive, sent him to prison, so that he’d come to understand what that feels like.”

Dean tries to make a joke about it, desperately wanting to take the focus away from Cas, feeling quietly nauseous at the thought of it happening to Cas, at _anything_ happening to Cas. “What? Having Harvelle up his ass? Sounds kinda kinky, some guys go in for that y’know.” He swallows hard around the words that taste like ash and lies. He’s aware that it’s more than a little twisted that he doesn’t feel this way when he’s killed someone or lied to his friends and family, only when he’s forced to badmouth Cas. It’s pretty low on his list of shit to worry about though. How to propose like the suave motherfucker he almost certainly is in another life is somewhere near the top though.

Benny quirks a smile, cuts Dean a look that he’s seen numerous times over their partnership, claps him on the shoulder. “I’d better get back to the grind, brother. See you tomorrow.”

Dean watches Benny leave, only sending a quick glance in Cas’s direction so as to not be rude in case Cas is paying attention – which he isn’t; intently focused on the target at the other end of the room. Benny climbs up the concrete steps and out of sight, and then they’re mercifully alone. Dean can think disgusting thoughts with utter abandon, maybe even persuade Cas to suck him off in the nearest bathroom –

“I know that face, Winchester.”

And really? Why do his fantasies keep getting interrupted?

Dean flashes a filthy smirk at his boyfriend, who is now facing him, ear protectors tugged down around his neck, gun in his right hand, pointed down at the floor. “I should hope so. It’s the face you’re gonna be seeing for the rest of your life. When I get my shit together and ask you properly and you totally say yes, that is.”

Cas’s face splits in to the widest, happiest smile that Dean has ever seen and he can’t help but reciprocate in kind, everything that he wants in his life consolidated into something so fucking perfect.

Cas crooks his finger, beckoning Dean over with a glint in his eyes, and Dean goes, an invisible, but unbreakable thread tethering them both together for eternity, whether they get married or not. Cas throws his arms around Dean’s neck and Dean feels the cool smooth metal of the gun against his pulse when he’s pulled in tighter and closer to Cas’s scorching body.

Voice barely above a hot little whisper against Dean’s ear, Cas murmurs, “Want me to blow you in the bathroom?”

Real life is so much better than fantasy.


End file.
